


Some Nights

by bansheequeen (queenbanshee), xtremeroswellian



Series: Where Do We Begin? [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And also for a couple of our other fics, Awesome Melissa, But Stiles is kind of jealous, But it's not necessary to read them really, But there isn't any bashing, Damn Tree Stump, Dynamic Duo, Epic Friendship, F/M, Just hints at what we think is coming from previews, Lydia Martin is perfect, Lydia and Parrish aren't dating either, Nightmares, Post-Nogitsune, So does a breakup, Spoilers for everything we've seen in season 5 so far, Stiles is having a hard time dealing with life, Stiles trusts Lydia, Stydia, They're just friends, We don't really like Malia, cuddling happens, otp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-11 01:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4416116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbanshee/pseuds/bansheequeen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtremeroswellian/pseuds/xtremeroswellian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of "The More Things Change…" and "The Rubble Of Our Sins", Stiles and Lydia’s friendship grows stronger again and they start to realize that there’s more to their connection with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It’s almost eleven pm when Stiles swings by the hospital with a paper bag full of hot food in tow. Scott’s busy tonight -- he’s not really sure with what because he’d been kind of zoned out when Scott had called him and he _knows_ it’s probably something important and he should have been paying better attention but he’s tired and not focusing well on much of anything today. He just knows that his best friend asked him to drop by the hospital with some food for his mom, who’s working a double shift unexpectedly, and Stiles has never been able to say no to a favor that involves Melissa McCall. 

He makes his way off the elevator and onto the third floor, heading for the desk where she’s sitting. “Dinner has arrived,” he announces, setting the hot bag of Chinese food in front of her, atop the file she was looking. 

The second Melissa looks up from the chart she’s reading, she cocks her head, eyes on Stiles for a full moment. “Oh no. What happened now?” Because if he’s here with food offerings, it can’t be a good sign. It’s not an emergency, clearly, which she’s grateful for. But still not a good sign when her children try to bribe her with food.

He pauses, honestly confused for the briefest of moments, then he thinks about how it looks. “Oh. No, nothing. Everything’s fine. Scott was busy with alpha stuff and he said you were pulling a double and might be hungry.” He hopes everything is fine (everything probably isn’t fine, because it never is). 

Melissa cocks her head slowly, reaching for the bag but keeping her eyes on him. It’s really not a bad thing that Stiles is there, anyway. There’s been something she’s been trying to talk to him about, even if she doesn’t wanna get involved. She feels responsible for him, she needs to check on him. 

“Alright. In that case, you can come on my break with me and we’ll have dinner together. I can share.” 

“I didn’t really -- order enough for both of us,” he admits with a shrug. “Plus I already ate with my dad earlier.” He’s tired, paler than usual, but not as pale as when he’d been possessed. He offers her a faint smile. “But thanks.” 

“Then keep me company,” she smiles. But it’s not a normal smile. It’s a smile that means he clearly has no choice in the matter and she already has a hand on his shoulder and is leading him down the hall to the break room.

That is the smile that usually means he’s in some kind of trouble and his stomach sinks a little and he tries to figure out what he’s done to get on Melissa’s bad side lately. Nothing comes to mind except the obvious, and he’s pretty sure there’s no way she actually knows about what happened with Donovan. 

Still, he doesn’t protest when she guides him down the hall and into the empty break room. “So uh, what’s up?” he asks cautiously. “Scott’s okay, right? And you?” 

“I assume you have a better idea of how my son is doing than I do.” There’s obviously no bitterness there, she’s just stating a fact. And when she smiles at Stiles this time as they take a table in the corner of the room, she means it. “I’m doing fine. But I haven’t seen you since-- probably since Lydia was here at the hospital and I helped you sneak into her room.” 

And after what she saw a couple of nights ago, she’s been glad not to have to face Stiles, but she’s used to delivering bad news.

Stiles thinks that not so long ago, that was the truth. Lately though he and Scott haven’t been as close as they’d been, and he knows it’s in large part his own fault. He’s harboring a huge secret that he can’t tell Scott or his dad about, and because of him, Lydia’s also carrying it around. Theo’s still lingering just on the outside of things, like he’s circling the entire pack and just waiting to make his move to get on the inside circle. He’s caught him talking to Scott one on one more than once and everything about the other boy grates on his nerves. 

“Oh. Yeah, it’s -- things have been busy with school and everything. Sorry. But uh, thanks for helping me do that.” 

That’s enough for Melissa to know something’s wrong. And it’s also enough for her to try and get a little more out of him before she actually speaks up. “And everything else?”

He shifts a little, not completely sure how much Melissa even knows about the current brand of supernatural causing trouble. “Just the usual junk,” he says after a moment. _Also I killed a guy._

Well, before he shuts her down completely, she’ll just throw it out there. “How are things with Malia?”

The question catches him off guard but he relaxes a little. At least talking about Malia is relatively safe territory. “Okay. Same as always, I guess?” Truthfully that’s not exactly the case either. They’re growing apart. He’s been feeling it for a few weeks now, but lately she’s been distant with him, and if he’s being honest with himself, it’s been somewhat of a relief. 

Somewhat. On one hand, he cares about her, and he likes her and enjoys spending time with her. On the other hand, he knows that the only reason they were ever really together is because he was trying so desperately to avoid dealing with everything after the nogitsune and she’d needed so much help. The timing had been perfect. But now…

Now the timing is less perfect. Now he’s beginning to realize how little they have in common. And he’s not sure that what they do have in common is enough to justify continuing a relationship with her.

It’s almost like she can read his internal struggle on his face as he sits there, not talking. Stiles has always been harder to read than Scott, but she still knows him well enough to get something from him. “Stiles, the truth.” It’s not a harsh tone, mostly it’s concern. Especially with what she saw, she needs to make sure it was really something that would hurt him.

He sighs a little and drops his gaze to the table. He wants to point out that her food is getting cold, but he doesn’t. He’s silent for a moment. “I don’t think it’s gonna work out. I mean, I always knew it wasn’t going to work out long term, but...I don’t think it’s going to last much longer.” 

In a way, she’s relieved to hear that he’s noticing. The impact of what she has to tell him is gonna be considerably lessened if this is something he’s already expecting. “What do you mean you always knew it wasn’t going to work out?” She has the feeling she knows the answer to that, especially with the way he reacted last week. 

“I’m not in love with her,” he says softly. “I never have been.” 

Definitely relieved. She reaches over and covers his hand with hers. And right then, he reminds her of his mom, but Melissa doesn’t say that. “Did you two talk about anything yet?” 

“No. But things are...different? I don’t really know how or why, but uh, we’re kinda...It feels like we’re going our separate ways a lot lately.” It feels like that with nearly everyone.

“It’s not an easy conversation to have. But trust me, kiddo. The longer you wait, the harder it’ll be to have it.” Although if they haven’t had it and Malia is apparently already moving on, Melissa is a lot less concerned about the girl’s well being. And a lot more about Stiles’. “You two are friends,” supposedly. “You hang out with the same people. You don’t wanna wait to end things when you’re already getting on each other’s nerves so much, you can’t even stand to look at each other.”

He winces at the reference to her relationship with her ex-husband. The situations are pretty different, but he sees her point. He doesn’t want to end up becoming someone that Malia hates because they can’t talk about things. And they definitely can’t talk about a lot of things. He looks down at her hand covering his and his chest tightens. It’s such a maternal gesture. This whole conversation is one that she’s probably had with Scott before. She’s good at it. “Yeah. Yeah, I know,” he murmurs.

“And if this makes it any easier on you,” and right now, making things easier on Stiles is everything she wants to do. “From what I’ve seen, it won’t be a surprise for her.” And she doesn’t just mean when she saw Malia nearly kissing Theo a couple of nights ago. She also saw how much the girl retreated from the group while they were at the hospital, waiting for news on Lydia. It was actually when she picked up on this whole thing to begin with. How much Stiles _hadn’t_ moved on from the redhead. 

“What do you mean? You think -- she knows?” 

“I think she might be feeling just about the same way,” she says sincerely. Melissa doesn’t know what’s going on between Malia and Theo and she doesn’t want to know. “You just have an easier time articulating things.” 

“Oh.” He considers that, thinking over his last few interactions with Malia. Things have been stilted between them but he was assuming it’s because he’s hiding such a huge secret from her and she’s sensed it. His expression is troubled. “Yeah I guess I should talk to her before things get out of hand.” 

Melissa squeezes his hand gently and nods at him, watching him closely. “And I can’t promise you things will work out the way you want them to.” She means with Lydia. “But I know you’ll be okay.” Without Malia.

He lifts his gaze to look at her, cheeks suddenly feeling warm. He’s pretty sure he knows exactly what she means and he’s pretty sure she knows that he knows what she means. “I know. I never -- really expected…” He shrugs and lets out a breath. 

As much as she wants to reassure him that he’ll be okay. And that Lydia will see him eventually -- and she’s not entirely sure she hasn’t already with how she found them both asleep and holding hands in the ICU when she went to get Stiles -- she doesn’t know those things for sure, and protecting Stiles _is_ still way above giving him hope on her priority list. “If it doesn’t, and I have said this to Scott, and I know it sounds impossible right now. But you do fall in love more than once in your lifetime.” 

He almost smiles at that. Almost. Because on some level he knows she’s right. At least when it comes to most people. But he’s never been most people. “Maybe. But I don’t want to,” he admits quietly, shrugging. He finally nods at her food. “Reheated Chinese food kinda sucks. Probably shouldn’t let it get any colder.” 

“Okay, you’re done with me.” She smiles at him, squeezing his hand one more time before letting go of it as she finally reaches for her food. She’ll let it drop for now because she does feel like he was telling her the truth. And now she also feels like she has enough to check up on him again in a couple of days. “Are you sure you already ate? Because this is still a lot and, reheated Chinese food is pretty terrible.” 

A sheepish grin touches his mouth and he shrugs before reaching out and grabbing one of the egg rolls. He can’t let good food get cold, can he? 

* * * 

He’s sitting behind the wheel of his jeep staring blankly out the windshield at Lydia’s house when he sees headlights flash in the mirror. He flinches involuntarily and then squints, eyes narrowing a little as he makes out the Toyota Highlander in the rearview. 

Parrish. 

He’s not entirely sure why he tenses at the idea of the deputy coming to Lydia’s house. He knows they’re friends. He knows Parrish is fond of her. It’s not a difficult thing to see, particularly when one’s perceptive and also knows the signs to look for when it comes to Lydia Martin. Not that he blames Parrish for falling for her. He doesn’t. 

Stiles exhales slowly, closing his eyes and wishing he’d just left before the guy had pulled into the driveway. But a moment later, he watches as Parrish backs his SUV out of the way once more, and then vanishes into the night. He purses his lips, trying to squash the niggling suspicions he’s suddenly feeling. Why the hell had he come to Lydia’s house this late at night and then simply turned around and left? It didn’t make any sense. 

Until he hears the knock on his window and nearly jumps out of his skin. He turns his head to see Lydia standing there and it all clicks into place. He’d been dropping her off. He reaches out and rolls the window down. 

Her hair is up in a messy ponytail, she’s still wearing a tracksuit and she feels pretty disgusting and obviously in need of a shower. But when she sees Stiles’ jeep sitting up front, she knows she has to go back out there and check on him before anything else. Especially because she has checked her phone recently and she never got a message or anything from him letting her know he _was_ there at all. 

“What’s going on?” She asks almost immediately when he rolls down the window. It’s chilly out and with her body still cooling down, she’s feeling extra cold.

He’s not entirely sure what to make of how she’s dressed or why she’s sweaty and he really doesn’t want to think about the possible possibilities. “Nothing,” he tells her, shaking his head and pursing his lips. “I just -- it’s nothing. Nothing important. I should take off. My dad’s gonna be home soon.” 

“You were waiting for me to get home and now that I’m here you’re taking off?” Although she’s fairly sure he never even went up to the door at all. She reaches over and unlocks the door, then pulls it open. “C’mon, you’re coming inside. I’m freezing.” 

He hesitates a moment, but slowly slides out of the jeep and shuts the door, pocketing his keys and then following her toward the front door. He glances over his shoulder, keeping close to her just in case a chimera leaps out to attack them before they can get inside the house. It doesn’t. He chews his thumbnail and follows her inside, shutting the door and locking it immediately. 

The only car on the driveway is hers, so she assumes her mom is still out. As soon as she gets into the house, she can hear Prada barking and running right up to them. She picks him up and smiles, letting her lick her a couple of times before kissing his head and setting him back down. “Yes, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re starving,” she says, watching as the dog runs right over to Stiles.

Stiles kneels down and picks the dog up, keeping him close as he glances around. Truthfully he’d thought she’d been here. He hadn’t knocked or rang the bell. Hadn’t texted or called. He’s not even sure why he’d driven straight to her house after his conversation with Malia, but he had and he’d sat motionless in her driveway for over an hour. “Want me to feed him?” he asks, scratching behind Prada’s ears. 

Lydia considers her options for a moment, then shakes her head. As much as she wants a shower, she knows she’ll take at least forty minutes. And she doesn’t wanna risk Stiles just leaving when she’s not looking. He’s here for a reason. “I’ll shower later. Do you wanna sit down in the living room? I’ll feed him and be right there.”

“You don’t have to wait because of me,” he tells her with a shrug. He knows how much _he_ hates being sweaty, even if she pulls it off a lot better than he does. That’s not surprising considering she pulls off basically everything better than most people. “I’ll feed him and take a seat.” 

“You’re still gonna be here when I come out, right?” she asks, cocking her head as she looks at him. It’s weird, but she just can’t put her finger on what’s wrong. He’s upset, but not anxious so much. It’s almost like he’s-- numb. From that she can tell. Which isn’t good either.

“Yeah. I’ll wait for you,” he assures her with a nod. “Food’s still in the same place, right?” 

“Yeah.” She smiles softly, not surprised he remembers. “But wait for me in my room, then. You don’t wanna be down here if my mom comes home tipsy. She’ll never stop talking.” And she doesn’t think he’d lie to her face about waiting, so she’s pretty satisfied with his response. Enough to make her way upstairs.

Once upon a time, the idea of Lydia Martin telling him to _wait for her in her room_ probably would have blown his mind. But he’s older now, smarter. And he knows her. It’s not _that_ kind of invitation. He just nods at her words, wondering how often her mom comes home tipsy. He carries Prada into the kitchen and sets him down carefully on the floor before locating the bag of dog food and pouring some into his bowl, petting him gently and then leaving him to his meal. 

Stiles rubs tiredly at his eyes, exhaling as he makes his way up the stairs and rounds the corner to her bedroom. He can hear the sound of running water across the hall and he drops onto the edge of her bed, looking up at the ceiling and then around at all the familiar pictures and knick knacks. His gaze locks onto a photo of Allison and Lydia with their arms wrapped around each other as they smile and he feels his breath catch for a moment. 

Things used to be so much more simple. So much easier. He squeezes his eyes shut and after a moment, he finds himself lying back atop her comforter, eyes burning and blurry with unshed tears. He rests an arm over his face, taking in slow deep breaths and trying to just focus on the sound of the water running. He doesn’t anticipate that the sound will actually lull him to sleep, but it does. 

Within a few moments, he’s dead to the world, legs dangling off the bed. 

She tries to be as fast as possible. The stitches have already come off, so she doesn’t need to cover them up anymore, which helps. But she still takes about half an hour before she is actually stepping out of the bathroom. From the silence, she doesn’t think her mom is home yet, or at least, she missed Stiles completely if she did get home. 

But as she steps back into her bedroom, she definitely doesn’t expect to find him laying down on her bed, Prada curled up next to him and from the way his chest is moving slowly, she knows he’s asleep. Stiles is never that calm while he’s awake. 

Frowning worriedly, Lydia reaches behind herself and closes the door to her room as quietly as possible not to wake him. Something is definitely really wrong. She turns on the lamp on her nightstand and shuts off the overhead light, planning on letting him sleep for as long as he needs. But she’s far too awake to actually fall asleep herself, so she picks up The Dread Doctors from her bag and quietly makes her way around her bed so she can sit up against the pillows on the opposite side.

_It’s getting ridiculous how much tape he’s had to use on the jeep and the various things that keep going wrong with her, he thinks as he stands in the abandoned school parking lot, tearing yet another strip of tape, this time to hold an entirely new part of the engine from falling off. Awesome. He’s so caught up in what he’s doing, in thoughts of Lydia getting hurt the night before, of wondering whether they’re going to get out of this alive, that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching him from behind._

_But then there’s pain, terrible, horrible pain shooting through his shoulder like the time Void had made him stab himself in the stomach in the basement of Eichen House, and he screams because that is the normal reaction when the pain is that sharp and out of the blue. Within seconds, he’s reaching for the wrench, trying to keep his attacker from stabbing him or biting him or whatever the hell he’d done, from doing it again, but it’s too far out of reach. He slams his head back, ignoring the explosion of pain he feels from the action, because it takes his attacker by surprise and he lets go._

_Stiles grabs the wrench and makes a run for the building, pausing only to turn and see what or who had attacked him._

_Donovan._

_His heart is pounding heavily as he runs, as he hides and tries to keep silent in the library even as the older boy taunts him, tells him what a terrible cop that his dad is. And then he’s being attacked again, pulled back with a bookshelf, books raining down on him as he winces. He doesn’t have time to acknowledge the pain, he has to get away. Donovan has his phone and Stiles is there alone._

_He’s so screwed._

_And then he’s staring at Donovan’s body in horror as blood pours from a gaping wound in his chest from a steel beam. He didn’t mean to kill him. But suddenly it’s not Donovan anymore, it’s Scott, and he’s in Deaton’s office twisting a sword in his best friend’s stomach as he taunts him._

_He’s screaming the whole time but Scott can’t hear him._

She’s still focused on her book when Prada very suddenly wakes up and jumps from where he’s been laying between her and Stiles and down to the floor. Frowning, Lydia looks up from the book and over at Stiles’ sleeping form, but he’s no longer sleeping peacefully. His eyes and hands are twitching, he’s breathing heavily and all of the sudden, he starts jerking his head back and forth, like he’s trying to fight something, or free himself from something.

“Stiles,” she calls, setting the book aside and reaching over for his shoulder, rubbing her hand over it gently, trying to wake him up without scaring him even more. “Stiles, wake up.” 

_Allison is lying dead in Scott’s arms, and the monster that’s been wearing him like a costume is the one responsible. He is responsible. But the scene shifts before he can think anymore about that, and this time Lydia is lying on the ground, blood everywhere. So much blood. He doesn’t know how much blood she’s lost but it’s a lot and he’s not sure anyone can survive losing that amount of blood, but she’s lost it and her face is deathly pale even as she smiles at him. He is frozen to the floor, his own blood frozen in his veins. Distantly he can hear Scott calling his name, but he sounds far away._

_But then he’s closer. Except it’s not Scott anymore. It’s Lydia. Lydia’s calling his name even though she doesn’t look like she has enough energy to continue _breathing_ and his own breathing is ragged and he feels sick._

He wakes up screaming. 

Between his screaming and sitting up all of the sudden, Lydia jumps too. Scared for just a second, but then she shifts closer, both hands on his arm as she cocks her head to try and look at him. “Shh. Stiles. You’re awake.” Her eyes are wide and she has no idea what’s happening to him, but that scream made _her_ feel his terror. Whatever he was dreaming about must have been terrible. But she knows what this feels like all too well, wake up screaming from your worst nightmares.

He lets out a shuddering breath, face pale and confused as he sees her, and for the briefest moment he’s sure it’s another dream within a dream because why is Lydia there when he’s having a nightmare? It takes a moment for him to realize that the room he’s in is not his own, it’s hers. Right. He’d gone to her house. He swallows heavily, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry. God. Sorry.” 

Because waking his dad up in the middle of the night, terrified and screaming from a nightmare isn’t bad enough. No, this time he has to do it in front of the one person he never wanted to see him like this. 

“It’s okay,” she whispers, rubbing her hand over his back soothingly. She can tell he’s embarrassed almost immediately as he realizes she’s there, but she’s not willing to pretend she didn’t see anything, so he’ll have to deal with her trying to comfort him. “I get them too. It’s okay,” she whispers, hoping that’s enough to get him to focus and relax instead of trying to compose himself.

He closes his eyes, trying to will himself to be okay, but he isn’t okay. “I didn’t even mean to go to sleep. I just closed my eyes for like, two minutes,” he mumbles. He’s intentionally been _not_ sleeping for days. Not sleeping is familiar, even if it’s exhausting. He slowly comes back to full awareness and registers that she’s rubbing his back and he wants nothing more than to hug her and bury his face in her hair and pretend like everything is fine for five minutes. Just five minutes. 

“You were tired, it’s not a big deal,” she promises quietly, wrapping her arm over his back a little more. She wants to help him, to protect him, to make him understand this is a safe place for him. If he needs to talk or break down or just fall asleep. She just wants him to be okay. “Stiles,” she whispers, willing him to look at her.

Stiles leans into her unconsciously when she wraps her arm around him and when she says his name, he does look up at her, meeting her eyes silently. He’s a mess and she knows it. They both know it. 

“It’s _okay_ ,” she whispers to him again, tightening her arm around him as he leans into her, shifting a little closer herself hoping he’ll be more comfortable. “You’re okay,” she adds.  
He nods slightly before letting his eyes close again, and he hesitates before dropping his head to rest against her shoulder. “How long was I out?” 

Lydia instinctively wraps her other arm around him, too. She lays her head on top of his, her hand now rubbing his arm gently. She feels better just being able to hold him like that, being able to comfort him somehow. She’s been feeling like he’s about to fall apart since he told her what happened to Donovan and she feels like it’s her job to stop that from happening.

“I don’t know, half an hour, maybe? You were out when I came out of the shower,” she whispers, keeping her voice even to try and get him to relax more.

“Oh.” A half an hour isn’t too bad, he supposes. It’s not really even that surprising. Intentionally depriving yourself of sleep is going to backfire eventually, and his body had reached its limit of deprivation, apparently. He keeps his eyes closed for a long moment, soothed by the closeness they shared for the moment. But it’s only for a moment. It’s all it _can_ be. He lets himself have it because he’s weak and he needs her even though it isn’t fair to her in the least and he knows it. 

He’s a rotten person. 

He forces himself to take a deep breath and then reluctantly pulls away from her. “I should get going,” he says quietly. 

“No, Stiles,” she calls, reaching for his hand the second he starts to pull away. There’s a weird sense of loss that comes with it. She was comfortable, and she felt like he was, too. “Stay.” 

But she knows how that sounds. Even if she means it, even if she stayed with him the night he told her about Donovan, she knows this is different. Even if she still has no clue why he was waiting for her outside in the first place. Even if she knows for sure he never called or texted to let her know he was there. She still feel like she needs to justify what she’s asking of him. Like she needs to convince both herself and him that this is acceptable in their relationship-- _friendship_. And that there’s nothing more to it.

“You’re exhausted and I know there’s something going on. Just-- stay here. Rest for a few hours at least. I don’t want you to drive around like this.” And there are a few guest rooms she could offer him, but only if he really is uncomfortable with staying there with her.

He doesn’t think about other possible connotations to her one word plea. They don’t even exist in reality and he’s too tired to really contemplate it anyway. They are friends. Good friends. Best friends. And there is a reason he came here, and it was equal parts to tell her about the potential awkwardness after this weekend, and because he’d just felt like he needed to see her. To make sure she was okay. 

“Things might be kinda...weird on Monday,” he tells her and there’s no emotion in his tone. “Malia and I broke up tonight.” 

Lydia just stills at the information. She’s suddenly glad he’s not a werewolf because for some reason, she just felt her heart skipping a beat completely. “You--” She knows they weren’t doing well. She knows Stiles has been lying to her about what’s really going on with him. She also knows Malia more than likely knows something is big, so she immediately assumes she broke up with him because of that. 

But she doesn’t voice her assumption. She needs to figure out how delicate a subject this is first. “What happened?”

He considers that. “Nothing, really. But I’m keeping things from her that I can’t tell her and she knows something is going on. And I can’t --” He shakes his head, exhaling. “It’s not fair to her.” It isn’t fair to Scott, either, and he knows it, and the guilt he’s carrying from that is even worse. He’s never kept something like this from his best friend before and it’s put a distance between him that’s eating him from the inside out. 

“And...we just…don’t really have anything in common. I care about her, but it’s not going to go anywhere. I’m not suddenly gonna fall in love with her when we’ve been together this long and I’m not in love with her, and that’s not fair either. She should get to be happy.” And if there’s one thing he knows with absolute certainty, it’s that he can’t bring her that happiness. He’s not sure he’s capable of bringing anyone happiness anymore. He rubs a hand over his face. 

“I mean it’s okay. It wasn’t bad or anything. I think she was kind of relieved.” 

It’s weird how everything he’s telling her feels familiar, in a way. She doesn’t feel comfortable bringing it up because she knows Stiles still holds on to a lot of guilt over everything the Nogitsune did, even if none of them blame himself for any of it. They never could. But it does remind her of Aiden. 

She cared about him, she set out to help him. But he was never really one of _them_. She never really trusted him, never really believed in him like she does with the rest of the pack. They never had a lot in common, which is why mostly she went to Stiles when she needed to talk to someone, bounce ideas off someone. She never even really talked about Aiden with Allison, in fact, she outright lied about seeing him to her best friend’s face initially. 

So in a way, she gets the disconnect Stiles is feeling. But at the same time, Aiden was never officially her boyfriend, let alone her _first_ boyfriend. And she knows that’s what Malia was for Stiles. His first real relationship, first real girlfriend. And she really did think his feelings for Malia were deeper than he let it show, than what he’s telling her now. But from the way he words it, there’s such a maturity in it, she knows he’s thought about this a lot. 

Still, Stiles is one of-- he’s her best friend now. And he just went through his first break up, regardless of whether or not it was a bad one. So she’s really mostly concerned about one thing: “Are _you_ okay? I mean-- even if it wasn’t bad, it can still be jarring.” 

“Yeah.” There’s no hesitation before he answers. And it’s not a case where he’s answering too quickly because he’s defensive. He’s just -- okay. At least as far as the break-up goes. He glances back at her, hesitates a second. “I kinda knew I was going to break up with her a few days ago. Melissa cornered me about it the other night when I took her dinner,” he admits. 

“What did she say?” Lydia asks, mostly out of curiosity. She likes Melissa a lot, but she doesn’t really see her much, or know her that well. For the most part, just whatever the boys tell her about her. That, and the fact that Stiles wants her and his dad to get together. Not that she blames him, she thinks they’d make a pretty good couple too.

“She told me the longer I waited, the harder it would be. On Malia. On everyone else.” And as usual, Melissa had been right. He’d known it that night the same way he knows it even now. She’s a smart woman and she gives good advice. Scott’s lucky. And Stiles misses his mother. He immediately pushes the thought aside because now is not the time to start a dwelling on that what ifs and might have beens that are never going to be. 

“I told her I felt like there was a distance between us. I just...didn’t tell her what the cause of it was,” Stiles says, raking a hand through his hair. 

Lydia purses her lips together and lifts her hand to his back again, watching him closely as she does. “Is that the only reason?” she asks quietly, and this question is a more selfish one. She knows eventually the others will find out what happened to Donovan and then maybe he and Malia will work things out again. “Why you did it now, I mean.” Because as much as he said he just was never going to fall in love with Malia, Lydia knows how easy it is to just be with someone so you’re not alone.

He grows still at that question, because it’s unexpected and he doesn’t know how to answer it. Because obviously there’s more than one reason for the breakup after all this time. But it’s not like he can elaborate on the other reasons. Not when it will make her feel bad, like she’s to blame. Because she isn’t. He’s silent as he tries to figure out how to respond. “No,” he says finally, pursing his lips. “It wasn’t the only reason.” 

She frowns slightly at his reaction. She was never really someone he talked to about his relationship with Malia. It’s one of the reasons they hadn’t been as close in the past several months. So she figures that whatever else that was happening between them is probably none of her business, too. “You don’t have to tell me,” she whispers at him, sincerely. “But you’re not going anywhere either.” 

One corner of his mouth tugs upwards involuntarily. “I’m not, huh?” His voice is a little lighter and he looks at her with warmth in his eyes. “I guess if I’m staying here tonight I should probably text my dad and let him know so he doesn’t worry.” He pulls his phone from his pocket. 

“You should do that,” she agrees, smiling softly back at him. If he drove over to her house and just stayed out there in his car, she knows it has to be because he didn’t wanna be alone. She knows things with Scott are-- unusually tense because of the secrets between them, so she’s more than happy to keep him company for however long he needs. At least break ups she’s dealt with plenty before.

He sends his dad a quick text, and then pauses before flipping through his contacts and then sending another text, this one to Melissa McCall. _You were right. Malia and I broke up tonight. She wasn’t really upset. I think we’re okay. Thanks._

Lydia waits until he’s done, taking a moment to set her book on the bedside table to give him some privacy. But once he puts his phone away again, she turns her attention back on him. “Do you wanna go back to sleep?”

“No. No, definitely not.” He barely manages to suppress a shudder at the memory of all the blood. He chews his thumbnail. “I mean, if you want to sleep that’s fine. I need to read the book anyway.” 

“Yeah, great idea. It’s not like _that_ is gonna give you more nightmares.” Lydia arches her eyebrows at him and gives him a look. “Let’s watch something. Are you hungry?”

“Gotta read it sometime,” he points out. There’s no getting around it, even if he’s been putting it off. And it isn’t like his nightmares are going to go away anytime soon. “No, not really.” He hadn’t eaten dinner, but he still isn’t hungry. “Are you?” 

“Kinda. I’ll go find something for us to snack on.” Working out is not something she’s used to doing, even if Jordan has been helping her for a few days now. She keeps pushing herself harder. She just has a hard time _not_ being good at something right away. Even if she knows she has unrealistic expectations of herself.

“If you _really_ wanna read it now, you can have my copy, I’m almost done with it. And it’s not exactly a page turner,” she admits. She’ll just find something else to read and stay with him while he does.

“All right.” He drops down onto the edge of her bed again and reaches for the book. He’s not excited about it, but he also wants to figure out what’s going on and figure out how the hell to stop it before anyone else got hurt or worse. And it’ll probably be worse. It usually is. He glances up at her as she heads for the door. “I promise I’ll even try to stay awake until you get back this time.” 

“I’m not holding my breath,” she teases, throwing him a smile over her shoulder as she steps out of the room.

He smirks at that and rubs his eyes before opening the book to page one and lying down on his stomach. After the first paragraph, he absolutely knows she’s right -- it’s not going to be a page turner. And he’s going to need a highlighter. This is even worse than his economics textbook.

* * * 

By the time Lydia wakes up, it’s already next morning. Her body feels stiff, like she hasn’t moved at all all night. It’s also sore from training with Jordan but somehow, she’s oddly comfortable. 

… And, also not alone. 

She looks down at the two arms wrapped around her, she can feel a heavy leg wrapped over hers and breathing just behind her ear. 

Of course she knows it’s Stiles. But it’s still surprising to find him all wrapped around her like that. Even more surprising to find that she’s not uncomfortable at all, despite the fact that she can’t really move. 

Her hand is actually in his, fingers intertwined. Her back is pressed against his chest and she just feels warm. And-- safe. She has no idea how they ended up like this and she knows he’s more than likely just used to sleeping like this with Malia and he doesn’t even realize she’s not her, but until he wakes up, she really doesn’t want to move. 

It’s been a really long time since she actually had anyone sleeping on her bed. Since she’s felt anything other than alone when she first wakes up. And that fact that it’s Stiles somehow just means that much more to her. Not that it should. But he means a lot more to her than he realizes. He has for a long time now.

Sighing softly, Lydia shifts slightly, pressing even more against him as she closes her eyes again. She just really missed having him around and she feels like in the past few weeks -- since he went to see her at the hospital -- he’s just been much more present in her life again. Like he used to be. And she doesn’t wanna lose that again.

He hasn’t slept this well in weeks. Months, maybe. Even as he slowly wakes up, he knows he’s not in his own bed. This bed has a mattress that’s much more comfortable, the sheets softer, and even though he’s not at home, he feels like he is. He doesn’t wake up with a surge of panic or uncertainty. He’s calm and relaxed even as he opens his eyes to find his face is buried in Lydia’s neck. 

That his arms and a leg is wrapped around her like she’s his own personal teddy bear. He feels her shift against him, and he knows she’s awake, and he waits for the inevitable moment when she will inevitably pull away. He closes his eyes again. It’s terrible, but he’ll pretend he’s asleep to make this less awkward. Except she’s not pulling away and it doesn’t really feel awkward at all. 

Almost involuntarily his fingers grip onto hers a little more tightly before relaxing once more and he knows the jig is up. “Morning,” he mumbles, keeping his eyes shut.

Well, that didn’t last much longer. When he shifts and then grips her hand tighter, she knows he’s definitely waking up. She just squeezes his hand back and glances his way as much as she can without moving. His eyes are still closed, so he clearly doesn’t realize who she is just yet. She’s sure he’d have pulled away if he did because no matter how comfortable this is, or how tactile they both have always been with each other, they’ve never exactly _spooned_ before. 

“Morning,” she whispers back, her voice raspier than usual, like it always is in the mornings. That should clue him in.

He’s not sure why she’s not pulling away, but if she’s not, he’s not going to either. He smiles a little at her whispered good morning, but then it occurs to him she may not realize it’s him and not Parrish and he winces, glad she can’t see his reaction. “Morning,” he says back quietly, voice still thick with sleep. Now she’ll definitely be pulling away, he’s sure. They’re friends -- close friends, best friends, but actual cuddling seems to straddle a line between friendship and something else. 

Lydia is still waiting for it, waiting for him to realize and pull away awkwardly. To possibly apologize to her and tell her he was used to sleeping like this with Malia and make things a lot more awkward. But then he speaks up again. And his hand is still wrapped around hers and his body is still very much pressed against hers and she’s not sure what to make of it. 

So she won’t do anything at all. Just look back at him a little more, and continue to act like this is normal. Even though it’s not. At all. But it’s definitely not bad, either. “Did you sleep okay?” 

Maybe one word isn’t enough for her to be able to differentiate his voice from Parrish’s first thing in the morning, he thinks, unable to stop himself from resting his forehead against the back of her head as he nods. “Yeah, I slept really well actually,” he tells her, letting his eyes slip shut again. “How about you?” 

He shifts a little but doesn’t pull away from her, actually moving just the tiniest bit closer to her instead. 

“I did too,” she whispers, smiling a little. Apparently Stiles is one of those people who talks even though he’s not even entirely awake yet. It’s a dangerous thing, but at least she’s not going to ask him anything that he wouldn’t want to answer if he was awake. So he’s fairly safe with her.

“No more nightmares?” she asks as she looks down at their hands again. And then she has to control this weird urge she suddenly has to pull his hand up to her lips and press a kiss to the back of it. It just feels-- like something she’d do. But Stiles is not just some guy she’s seeing. And this already has the potential to make things awkward enough as is.

He does have a tendency to talk before he’s fully awake -- which is surprising to exactly no one who’s ever met him, really. He pauses at her question and bites his lip to suppress a smile. His fingers flex around hers again, giving them a gentle squeeze. “No more nightmares,” he confirms, resisting the urge to kiss the back of her neck. Friends definitely don’t do _that_. 

“Thanks for making me stay last night,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles lightly. 

She holds her breath at his words. Maybe he’s more awake than she realizes. Because he’s not just answering her question, he’s saying something completely unrelated. And she knows people who talk in their sleep are more likely to just mimic whatever they can hear, or whatever they are dreaming about. 

“I’m glad you did,” she whispers back at him, smiling softly to herself as she watches their hands. Maybe he really is just as comfortable as she is with this. 

He chews his lower lip for a moment, and then lifts his head to look down at her. “Do you like pancakes?” 

Lydia frowns a little when he starts to pull away, but then she just sees his face hovering over hers and she pauses, turning a little toward him. And she’s fully aware of the fact that their faces are just inches apart now. But she won’t even allow any thoughts of lifting her head and pressing her lips to his like she has once before. Not when he literally broke up with his girlfriend last night. Not when he’s her best friend. Not when that matters a lot more to her than anything else right now. 

But she does allow herself to smile at his question, though. Because his hair is sticking up and his face has marks from the pillow on it and he looks adorable. “Obviously.” 

He grins involuntarily back at her, eyes brightening. “Do you guys have the stuff to make them?” he asks, wishing they could wake up like this every morning. Wishing it’s more than it really is. He so rarely sees her like this, first thing as she wakes up, still peaceful from sleep and smile softer than usual. There’s no trace of makeup on her face, and she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. 

“I can make them.” 

“Yeah, I think so.” The way he grins at her. Just bright and without the usual weight he always has on him these days makes her chest tight. She almost reaches up to touch his face, to keep him there, looking like this for a moment longer. But instead, she just takes a deep breath and shifts to lay on her back. Even though he’s still impossibly close to her. “I’ll go look.” 

He shifts a little to let her move, giving her hand one last squeeze before reluctantly letting go. “I’ll come with you.” 

Lydia squeezes his hand back, looking at him for a moment then shifting to get up. She winces, shoulders and legs still very much sore, but that doesn’t stop her from getting up.

He immediately frowns and sits up, too. “Hey, are you all right?” 

“I’m okay, just sore,” she admits, smiling at him over her shoulder and stretching her arms before she stands up.

“From the kanima?” His voice hitches a little and he gaze drops to her side, where he knows the injury is. 

Lydia winces a little as she turns to face him again. “No. The cut is pretty much healed…” she looks away and takes a deep breath. “I-- asked Jordan to teach me how to fight.” And she’s embarrassed to admit it, because she’s not good at it. And she hates not being good at it. 

Stiles lifts his gaze to her face once more, pausing at that, surprised. “Oh.” He nods a little, trying to ignore the fact that she’s calling him Jordan and not Parrish. Trying to ignore what it all means. “How’s it going?” he asks uncertainly. 

“It’s a lot to learn,” she says, and there’s definitely frustration in her voice. “But it’s better than nothing.” She pauses, arching her eyebrows at him. “Maybe you should come out with me next time, we’re the only ones in the pack who can’t fight.” And obviously they’re just as likely to get attacked as everyone else.

“I’m sure you’ll pick it up in no time, Lydia,” he says honestly. He’s pretty sure there’s nothing she _can’t_ do if she wants to do it. But he hesitates at the offer. He’s not a fighter even though he tries. But he’s also not sure he wants to actively learn something that might end up killing someone else -- again. And he’s also not sure he can stomach watching Parrish get in her personal space even if it’s for a good cause. “Yeah, maybe.” 

“Thanks for your blind faith,” she’s teasing, but she knows he means it. And then without thinking about it, she reaches for his hand and tugs on it gently. “Think about it while we find everything to make pancakes.” 

His fingers curl around hers instinctively and he smiles at her teasing. He definitely means it. “Yeah, well you’ve always had that,” he informs her as he follows her out of the room. 

Lydia pauses when she opens the door, nodding as she looks back at him, a soft smile on her lips. “I know.” He’s always made that very clear. “Which is why the thanks is not actually sarcasm.” 

He smiles back at her. “Noted,” he assures her. Not that it’ll keep him from professing said blind faith every chance he gets, because despite how confident she tends to be, he knows she needs to hear it. To be reassured. She’s not that different from anyone else in that way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we decided to expand on this fic a little more. There will be a couple more chapters at least, we'll see how far we go. We'll keep exploring elements from Season 5 canon, but we're definitely going AU on a lot of it!

It’s after ten a.m. when he finally makes it home. He cooked pancakes for Lydia and her mother, who was surprised to see him, but she hadn’t questioned it, and he’s glad. Breakfast was on the awkward side already, knowing that she’d been set to go on a date with his dad and now had a rundown on the supernatural side of Beacon Hills. He doesn’t know exactly what Lydia’s told her, but he’s not sure there’s any way to break the news without mentioning he had basically dragged her into the middle of the drama to begin with. 

He’s feeling better than the previous night, partially because he’d actually slept through the rest of the night without anymore nightmares, and partially because being around Lydia just tends to lift his spirits. 

He’s halfway home when he starts feeling the familiar blanket of anxiety settling into his bones again. He glances in the mirror, half expecting to see someone sitting in his backseat, but there’s no one there. He forces himself to take a deep breath and exhale slowly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel ever so slightly. 

Stiles grows tense when he spots Scott sitting on the porch when he pulls into the driveway. Something’s wrong (when isn’t it?). He climbs out of the jeep and pockets his keys quickly, moving toward his best friend. “What’s going on?” 

“Dude!” Scott is on his feet and making his way toward Stiles as soon as he’s out of the jeep. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks immediately, looking his friend over and doing his best not to sniff the air around him.

He freezes immediately, and he’s pretty sure his heart skips a beat at Scott’s words. _He knows._ His stomach twists into a knot and he tries not to let any of his emotions show on his face despite the fact that Scott will definitely smell them anyway. Besides, Scott knows him. Still. He falters for words, and he knows he needs to explain, and he can’t figure out why Scott doesn’t look angry with him. 

“I was going to, I just -- I guess I’m still processing.” It’s halfway the truth at least. He’s still trying to process the fact that he killed someone. He definitely hadn’t intended on ever telling Scott. 

Scott shakes his head, walking up to him then wrapping an arm over his shoulders and leading him toward the house. “That’s fair.” Confusing, but fair. “But, what happened? I mean, you didn’t even mention anything before.”

Leaning into Scott’s embrace is as natural as breathing, and right then he’s so damn grateful that he’s been wrong, that Scott doesn’t actually hate him, he lets out a shuddering breath. “I know. I know, I couldn’t. I wasn’t -- “ He swallows heavily, letting Scott lead him up to the house. He pulls his keys out of his pocket once more, but now his hands are shaking and he struggles to get the key into the damn lock. 

“Here, I got it,” Scott says, taking the key and opening the door for him. He’d expected Stiles to be shaken up. But he’s definitely even more upset than he imagined. 

Stiles mumbles a thanks and rakes a hand through his hair as he steps into the house. His dad is gone already for his Saturday shift. “How uh -- how did you find out?” Because he knows Lydia wouldn’t have said anything. Which means he’d been sloppy somewhere along the way. Or someone else had seen. 

After locking the door back up, Scott turns to Stiles again. “Malia told me.” Them. Kind of announced to the whole pack. Well, him, Kira and Liam, anyway. But he’ll go easy on him, he hates seeing him this upset.

He nearly trips over his own feet as he whirls around to stare at Scott with wide-eyes, face draining of all color. “ _Malia_ knows?” 

That _definitely_ confuses him even more. “She-- was, kinda there when you two talked?” Unless she just decided it? But no, he’s pretty sure Malia said Stiles broke up with her. So it’s not really just in her head. Right?

 _The breakup._ Jesus. This whole time Scott had been talking about the breakup with Malia, and not the murder. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it before he finally manages to talk again. “The talk. Right. Right, yeah. That.” He nods, knowing he’s going to have to lie his ass off to his best friend now because no way does Scott not know something’s wrong. Something else. “No, I’m just -- yeah of course she was there. I’m tired, you know? I was up reading that damn book half the night. It’s incredibly boring. Valak definitely isn’t Hemingway by any stretch of the imagination.” 

But it’s a little too late for that. Especially because as much as Scott hates picking up on Stiles’ emotions all the time like this, he can tell he was extremely worried and upset and now he seems to be just extremely relieved. “What were you talking about, Stiles?”

He feels the familiar surge of panic swelling in his chest once more and it’s worse because he _knows_ Scott’s picking up on it and he feels like shit for not telling Scott to begin with. And he’s not sure there’s anything he can say or do that can set any of this right (he knows there isn’t -- Donovan is _dead_ , and there’s no undoing that). He moves away from Scott, dropping his keys onto the table. 

“I did something,” he whispers, not able to look Scott in the eye. “Something bad.” 

And now it’s back again. Panic, regret, guilt. It’s scaring Scott. But he shakes his head a little. “Whatever it is, we can fix it. I’ll help you.” Like he always has.

He turns away, rubs a hand over his face. “We can’t fix it. It can’t be fixed. Not this time.” He lets out a shaky breath, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Scott frowns hard, lifting his hands to Stiles’ shoulders. “What happened?” he asks, more and more worried every second that goes by and he can feel how much this is affecting his best friend. He’s thinking Nogitsune proportions.

Stiles flinches involuntarily when Scott’s hand brushes over the still-healing wound in his shoulder. “I fucked up, Scott,” he whispers. “Donovan.” It’s all he can get out before he has to move to sit down on the sofa. He rests his head in his hands. 

He pulls his hand away as soon as Stiles winces. And when he walks away, Scott gives him space. “What about him?”

It takes him a moment to pull himself together enough to get the words out. “He’s dead.” 

“What?” Scott’s blood runs cold. But Stiles can’t mean what he thinks he means, can he? He wouldn’t do that.

Stiles swallows heavily, not looking up at him. He wonders for the briefest of moments, if Scott will even _believe_ him. He hadn’t believed Malia initially about the masked men who killed Tracy. “He attacked me in the parking lot at school,” he begins, voice shaking. “There was no one else there. I uh -- I ran to the library, but he followed me. Whatever -- whatever these doctors are doing to people, I think they did it to him, too. He wasn’t human anymore.” 

Scott’s first question is about when this happened, but he doesn’t ask anything, just waits for Stiles to go on. 

“We fought. I thought -- I thought that was it, Scott,” he whispers. “I thought he was gonna kill me. And all I could think was if he did, he’d go after my dad next.” He wipes his shirt sleeve over his eyes absently. “I tried to climb up the scaffolding but uh -- he grabbed me. I just wanted to get away. I wasn’t trying to --” He chokes, drawing in a breath and rising to his feet, starting to pace. “I grabbed the pin that was holding the scaffolding together and he fell. There was a beam -- a steel beam and it just --” 

He rubs a hand over his stomach, tasting bile in the back of his throat. “There was so much blood. I didn’t _mean_ to.” 

Once he’s done, and once Scott had some time to push down his own nausea, he sits down but keeps his eyes on his best friend. “So it was an accident,” he says quietly, and he really needs Stiles to say yes to that question.

“I wasn’t trying to kill him.” Not that it matters. Dead is dead. Intentions mean nothing in the long run. There was even a famous saying about it and how the path to hell was paved with them. And he’s definitely been on the path to hell for a long time. 

“Did it happen last night?” he asks carefully.

Stiles shuts his eyes. “No,” he admits, unable to look at him. 

He didn’t think so. Stiles has been acting weird for a while now. Since-- since they went to Eichen. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The question isn’t an accusation. But as much as he tries not to sound hurt by the fact that he didn’t, he doesn’t quite manage to hide it completely.

“I didn’t know what to do, Scott.” His voice is tired. “I called the cops and didn’t say anything because I knew they’d trace the call. But when deputy got there -- the body was gone. I just -- I freaked out.” 

“Like the others.” Scott frowns, but then shakes his head and stands up again. 

“Stiles. You’re my best friend. You’re my _brother_. And if you tell me it was an accident, if you tell me you need my help because you’re freaking out. I’ll believe you, and I’ll help you. I’d never do anything other than that. Because-- if we can’t trust each other on that, how are we ever supposed to trust someone, anyone else?” he asks quietly, his throat tight as he speaks. He knows Stiles always accuses him of trusting too much, and too many people. But he doesn’t trust anyone the way he trusts _him_.

His breathing hitches as Scott repeats his own words from so long ago (not so long ago, really) back to him. His chest feels tight, like he can’t breathe and his eyes are red-rimmed and blurry with tears. “It wasn’t -- it’s not because I didn’t think you’d help me, Scott. It’s --” He rubs his eyes. “There’s been so much _shit_ because of everything -- “ Everything he did when he was possessed, but he can’t make himself say it because it feels like a rotten excuse even if it’s at least partially the truth. “And I’m not like you, okay? I’m _not_. I can’t --” 

Stiles feels a surge of anger with himself for not being able to get the words out. For not being able to articulate things the way he wants to. “I trust you with my life.” 

“And I trust you with mine,” he says, his own eyes red. “I don’t expect you to be like me. I expect you to be like you. I don’t want you to be any different.” He can’t really articulate, either. But if there’s one person who always gets what he means, it’s Stiles.

The sincerity of Scott’s words is what breaks him. Wordlessly he hugs his best friend, buries his face into Scott’s shoulder and holds on. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry, Scott.” He’s not like Scott, because Scott is everything that is good and Stiles is everything that is _not_. He’s always known it, but everything from the last couple years just keeps reaffirming it and somehow Scott still doesn’t hate him and it doesn’t make any sense. 

“It’s okay.” Scott tells him, then shakes his head and hugs Stiles. “I’m not mad.” And he figured Stiles would know that, but maybe he doesn’t. Or maybe it’s just the guilt. Or maybe he just needs more time.

Stiles doesn’t know what else to say. He’s not sure there’s anything else he _can_ say. His chest still feels tight, and his stomach is still nauseated, but he doubts that’s going to change anytime in the near future. After a moment, he pulls back, sniffing a little. “I can’t tell my dad,” he whispers. “Not this.” 

“I think he’d understand.” The Sheriff has to have seen plenty of accidents like this before. Scott pulls away too, and then he nods. “But it’s your choice.”

He doesn’t want his dad to have to try and understand this. The Nogitsune was already too much. And his dad will blame himself. He rubs the back of his neck and exhales slowly. “So uh, what now?” he asks uncertainly. “Where do we go from here?” _Are we okay?_

Scott takes a deep breath, his eyes a little wide as he considers the question. “I-- don’t know?” He normally doesn’t know. He just-- goes with what feels right, and right now, there are two things standing out to him: “I guess we just, we should just be glad you’re okay.” Even if it doesn’t really feel right, because someone died. But-- Tracy did too, and Lucas. And they’re still glad Malia and Kira and Mrs. Martin are okay. So it’s the same thing, right? “And, I mean, is there anything you need my help with?”

Stiles wishes it was that easy. He’s glad he’s alive -- sort of. “Yeah,” he murmurs. He looks up at Scott, expression unreadable. “I don’t think so. I mean, I don’t what it’d be with all this.” He hesitates. “Lydia thinks Parrish may be the one taking the bodies.” 

He knows Stiles isn’t okay, but he doesn’t know what he could say to him right now that would make things better. So he lets him change the subject. “Parrish? Why?”

“She said he told her he’d been having dreams about the Nemeton. About taking bodies there. Laying them on top of it.” He grimaces.

“The Nemeton?” Okay, he’s nervous again. “What-- did she tell him about it?”

“Just that it’s -- basically a beacon for the supernatural. That it’s probably what drew him to Beacon Hills from the start.” He starts pacing again.

“But he’s not--” evil. Right? “I mean, he’s not like Jennifer?”

Stiles exhales. “I don’t think he’s some kind of emissary, no.” He glances at Scott. “The rest…? I have no idea. I didn’t get an evil sort of vibe off him.” Then again he hadn’t with Jennifer either. Not at first. 

“Does Lydia? I mean, she’s been helping him, right?” And being a banshee, shouldn’t she be able to tell?

“Yeah. I don’t think she thinks he’s evil.” Not if she asked him to teach her to fight. Then again, her past boyfriends have included Jackson and Aiden…

“Okay. That’s good. Maybe we should try to talk to him? Help him too?” Maybe if they get involved now, and Parrish could potentially harm someone, then they can stop him from wanting to.

Stiles chews on his thumbnail absently, nodding. “How fast can you clean your room when it’s at its absolute worst?” 

Scott stills, staring at Stiles for a full moment to make sure he heard the question right. “I-- depends how fast Kira is gonna show up in there?”

“In less than five minutes she’s going to be at your door. How many minutes are going to be leftover when you’re done cleaning up? Like _really_ cleaning it up?” he presses.

“Dude, in five minutes, I’m probably just gonna shove everything either under my bed or in the laundry basket. I don’t think there’ll be time to spare?” And he’ll probably still be caught doing it when she arrives.

“So theoretically you couldn’t actually clean the place up and put everything back where it goes in that amount of time, even using all your wolfie abilities?” He’s started pacing again. 

“No. I just move a little faster, but I still have to do everything. I’m not the Flash,” he says. “Stiles, what’s going on?”

“The library was a wreck, Scott. And by the time Deputy Hanson got there, the place was nearly spotless. Who -- or what -- can move _that_ fast? And steal a body and get out of there without me seeing them?” 

Scott pauses, nodding in understanding as he thinks about the question, and then he sighs, looking away. “Maybe something like-- the Oni? I mean, they just appeared places.”

To his credit, Stiles doesn’t flinch at the mention. “Maybe. So either Parrish is doing all this and he thinks he’s dreaming, or he’s doing all this and pretending he knows nothing about it at all. But he admitted to Lydia about the dream, so that option doesn’t seem very likely.” Unless he was playing her entirely. And he’s not ready to rule that option out either. 

“Maybe you should talk to her about it and see what she thinks? I mean, if anyone can figure this out…”

He draws in a breath and rubs his hand over his face, nodding. “Yeah. I will. I’ll talk to her, we’ll figure it out.” 

Scott smiles a little, then nods. And, speaking of Lydia. “Now-- do you wanna talk about what happened with Malia?”

Stiles pauses in his tracks and then looks at Scott. “It uh, it wasn’t going to be long term. It wasn’t going to last, Scott.” And he knows that’s not really going to surprise his best friend that much, because Scott knows him. 

He does, and it doesn’t surprise him, so he just nods. “She seems-- okay, at least. Are _you_ okay? I mean-- with this?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs a little. “I’ll miss spending time with her, but...I’m not in love with her. And she’s not in love with me. It’s fine.” 

Scott nods once again, a little relieved that his best friend really seems okay about this, at least. “Do you wanna just-- hang out today?”

“Yeah?” He looks a little uncertain. He wonders if it’s responsible of them to take the day off from figuring all of this out. From focusing on the new threat they’re facing. But he needs it. They both do. “Yeah, I do. I’m gonna kick your ass at Mario Kart.” 

Scott relaxes immediately and grins. “Yeah, you wish. I don’t even need wolf reflexes to kick your ass.”

“Bring it on, Scottie,” he responds with a smirk as he heads for the stairs.

* * * 

Lydia feels pretty pathetic about what she’s doing. Pathetic isn’t something she does very often, but this is definitely ranking high on that category. And she’s pretty much been planning this since Saturday morning. Not that she’d ever admit to it. Even if Stiles sees right through it, she’ll just deny until her last breath. Probably.

It’s Sunday night and she hasn’t seen him since he left her house after pancakes on Saturday. Which isn’t long at all. Just about thirty-two hours. Which makes this even sadder. But she stopped fighting herself on it at about two this afternoon. Because despite whatever reasons she has to question her behavior, she also have very legitimate decisions to be worried about him. 

Between what happened with Donovan, his break up with Malia, the distance between him and Scott and the nightmares she now knows he’s been having, finding an excuse to check up on Stiles is, at the very least, being a decent friend. 

Which is why she’s now standing on his doorstep, a plate of freshly baked peanut butter chocolate cookies carefully balanced on one hand as she reaches to knock on the door with the other. 

She knows it’s a bad idea to show up without warning when the person she’s coming to see has anxiety issues as obvious as Stiles does. But honestly, a part of her is just afraid he will brush her off if she says she’s coming over. And him shutting her out _now_ would be a lot worse than his anxiety flaring up a little because she came over unannounced. 

A second later the door opens and Sheriff Stilinski’s eyebrows raise a little but he offers her a soft smile. “Lydia. How are you feeling?” he asks. He hasn’t seen her since the night she’d gotten injured at the station, even though Stiles has told him she was doing all right.

“Hi, Sheriff,” she greets with a smile. She knew he was home since his car is in the driveway, but she’s still a little surprised he’s the one getting the door. “Oh, I’m okay. Stitches already came out and everything. How are you?”

“Good.” He steps aside to let her in, eying the plate of cookies she’s carrying. “Haven’t seen you here in awhile.” His voice is gentle. 

Lydia pauses at the comment, nodding slightly and keeping her smile on her lips when she feels it slipping. “Yeah. I guess we have all been kinda busy.” She didn’t really feel like it was her place to keep coming over. But she wants to change that. She will, hopefully. 

When she sees him looking at the plate, she holds it out to him. “Peanut butter chocolate chip cookies? Just don’t tell Stiles I’m sharing them with you. He’ll never let me come over again.”

Sheriff Stilinski searches her eyes and smiles a little before reaching out to take a cookie from the plate. “Between you and me, Lydia, you’re probably the only person who _could_ get by with feeding me cookies.” He gives her shoulder a squeeze. “He’s upstairs in his room.” He pauses for a moment. “I’m making turkey burgers for dinner if you’re interested in sticking around.” He hopes she is.

“Oh, hm--” normally she’d just say she needs to check what her mom’s plans are for dinner, but she really doesn’t feel like bringing up her mom around the Sheriff is a good idea at all right now. She really didn’t even think about it being almost dinner time, she just came over when the cookies were done. But with the way he’s looking at her, he does look like he means the invitation. 

So Lydia just smiles softly then takes a deep breath. “As long as I’m not intruding. That sounds nice.” 

“Of course you’re not intruding. You’re always welcome here, Lydia,” he tells her sincerely. 

And now, after the conversations she’s been having with Stiles. Now that Malia isn’t just showing up in his room at all times, she does believe that. So she lifts the plate a little more and grins softly. “In that case, I brought dessert.”

He smiles back at her. “I promise not to eat all of them before dinner,” he jokes as he reaches out to take the plate from her. 

“I’ll make sure to tell Stiles that so it’s no longer my fault if that happens,” she teases, smiling at him as he makes way for her to come inside and head upstairs. 

Okay, so far, this has gone better than expected. But then she’s pretty sure the Sheriff’s always liked her. And she’s also pretty sure he has very little idea of all the things going on with Stiles, so before she knocks on Stiles’ door, she pauses to listen. When she hears nothing, she knocks gently and waits.

“Come in.” His voice is slightly muffled, because the door is shut all the way and he’s across the room, standing in front of his board. “How much time before --” He glances over his shoulder when the door opens and he sees Lydia instead of his dad. “ _Oh._ Hi.” 

“Hi,” she steps into the room and closes the door before turning to face him again. Of course he’s working on the board, but he doesn’t seem to be doing too badly from what she can tell. Especially since it doesn’t look like he was rushing to hide anything when he thought she was his dad. “Your dad let me in.”

“I didn’t think breaking and entering was your thing,” he jokes, offering her a small smile. “Everything okay?” He sets his marker down and gives her his full attention, concerned expression on his face. 

“No, it’s more of _your_ thing, but you are a pretty big influence in my life, so you never know,” she teases, not even realizing what she just said. But it wouldn’t matter anyway, because it’s the truth. And she’s perfectly comfortable with his influence. He’s one of the main driving forces behind a lot of the changes and choices she’s made for herself since they became friends. Not because he tries to force her into anything, but because his faith on her helps her be confident enough to do what she has to do. “Everything’s okay. I just-- felt like baking this afternoon since we were talking about it the other day and I figured I’d bring the results over since we probably won’t eat it at home.”

His expression brightens at her statement. Not that he thinks teaching her about breaking and entering was one of his better moments, but sometimes it’s a necessary evil. And he knows she’s a lot less likely to use the skill than he is, because she’ll only do it when she absolutely has to. “Wait, you baked? What did you bake?” he asks curiously.

“Peanut butter chocolate chip cookies,” she tells him, stepping further into his room and looking at his board for a second before focusing on him again. “Your dad confiscated them when he invited me to stay for dinner,” she explain. And then she watches his reaction closely just to make sure he’s okay with her staying for dinner.

“Those are my favorite,” he says, looking both surprised and kind of amazed. He tries to remember if he’s ever told her that before or if it was just a really lucky guess. At the mention of her staying for dinner, though, he smiles. “He’s grilling turkey burgers. And zucchini. He’ll complain that neither has enough flavor, but you can ignore him, because he’s just whining cause I don’t let him eat all red meat and corn on the cob.” 

“Really?” It does surprise her, too. Because, “they’re also my favorite. Peanut butter and chocolate is the actual perfect combination, not jelly,” she adds, grinning softly at him as she relaxes since he’s obviously okay with her staying. “At least he can have the cookies for dessert to balance out a healthy meal?” Okay, so maybe this isn’t going so bad at all. She’s sincerely surprised to see how much more upbeat Stiles seems to be. 

He meets her eyes, mind drifting back to the day they’d gone ice skating and he’d offered her peanut butter cups. “It’s pretty much the best combination I can think of,” he says, voice a little softer. He bites his lower lip for a moment. “I talked to Scott. He knows.” 

She’s not sure why his expression changes for a moment. She doesn’t really pick up on any kind of reference to their past, but when he mentions Scott, she lets out a breath, even if she for now decides on suppressing a smile. She wants to make sure things are okay first. But it does makes sense that he looks more relaxed now. “How did it go?”

“Better than I expected.” Better than he’d deserved. He purses his lips and scratches the back of his neck. “He doesn’t hate me, so that’s definitely a plus.” He looks away for a moment. “He was pretty hurt I didn’t tell him sooner.” 

“Of course he doesn’t hate you, Stiles,” she says softly, frowning a little when he looks away. “But he understands why? That you were just freaking out?” Because if he doesn’t understand, Lydia will talk to Scott herself to explain. Simply because the boys aren’t always clear on their communication.

“Yeah. He gets it. We pretty much spent all day yesterday playing video games and eating junk food,” he admits. It had been like old times. Pre-werewolf times. 

Her face brightens instantly at that. “That’s really good to hear. So everything is okay between the two of you, right?” Because Scott may be the Alpha, but Stiles is most definitely his Co-Alpha. The pack only functions if the two of them are okay. Which is one of the many reasons they all felt so lost, so broken when everything was going on with Stiles. They’re both equally important to all of them.

“Yeah. We’re okay,” he says quietly, taking a couple steps toward her. “It was -- kind of funny how it came out, actually. I mean, not hilariously funny but...strange funny. He was here when I got home yesterday morning and he asked me why I hadn’t told him. It never even occurred to me that he was talking about the whole -- situation with Malia.” 

Lydia smirks softly and shakes her head. “You two seriously need to work on your communication skills. Like, _seriously_.” But then, when she realizes he said yesterday morning, the morning after they broke up, she pauses. “Wait, how did he know?” 

“Malia told him,” he tells her with a shrug. 

“I guess that makes-- sense?” She frowns. Because obviously this was Stiles’ to tell his best friend. But there’s still a lot Malia doesn’t get about these things, she supposes.

“He’s her alpha,” Stiles says quietly. “I think she probably figured he needed to know right away.” 

“Probably,” she agrees quietly, cocking her head as she takes a step closer to him. “Did you talk to her?”

“No. I mean, not since Friday night.” He hesitates, then scratches his head. “Should I? I mean, do you think I should like, call her or something?” 

“No.” She answers immediately, then shakes her head, stepping closer to reach for his arm when he reaches up to his head. It’s obvious she just worried him. “Definitely don’t call her. You two need to take some time. I think you need to keep your interactions with her pack-only for a while. Right now it’d only make you guys resent each other more if you were around each other. Especially if the other person isn’t too upset.” She knows that when Jackson broke up with her, the hardest part for her was seeing him laughing and smiling.

He relaxes as soon as she lays her hand on his arm. At least out of all the things he’s messed up and done wrong lately, this isn’t one of them. “Yeah and I didn’t wanna confuse her by calling her when nothing’s really going on, but I also don’t want to be that guy. You know, that jerk guy that seems like he doesn’t care when he does, it’s just not the right _kind_ of caring for a romantic relationship.” He doesn’t want to be like _Jackson._

“Stiles, you’re pretty far from being a jerk about any of this. From what you told me, you’re actually dealing really well with everything,” she says sincerely, smiling softly at him. “Trust me, I’d know. I’ve dated the jerks.” It’s not a secret.

“I do. Trust you.” His voice is quiet and he looks down at her hand on his arm. “I trust you more than just about anyone, Lydia.” 

When he looks down at her hand, she does too, pausing and looking back at him as she drops her hand completely before reaching out for his hand instead. “I know you do,” she whispers quietly. The fact that he told her about Donovan. That he drove to her house to talk to her after he and Malia broke up -- it means a lot to her. Even if there’s a strong possibility that he wouldn’t have done those things the way he did if he and Scott had been on better terms, she’s okay with that still. Because she knows how strong their friendship is and she’d never wanna take Scott’s place in Stiles’ life. She couldn’t anyway. 

Just like the fact that she considers Stiles her closest friend, her best friend now doesn’t take Allison’s place in her life. It never could. “And I can say the same to you,” she adds, her voice even quieter this time.

Stiles squeezes her hand a little and then shifts closer to her, winding his other arm around her and pulling her in for a hug. “I’m glad,” he whispers. It’s starting to really sink in for him how disconnected he’s felt from her for months and how much he’s missed her. 

Lydia is pretty glad he reaches out to hug her, because she’s just about to do the same when he does. Because something about the look on his face just bothers her. She knows it could be about Malia, but somehow, she doesn’t think so. She thinks there might be something else on his mind. For now, she doesn’t ask, she just wraps her arms tightly around him. It reminds her of what it felt like to wake up with him. Of how comfortable and safe and warm she was with him there. So she tightens her arms around him just a little more.

He lets go of her hand and rests it against the back of her head, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly, feeling calmer than he has all day. Since yesterday when he’d woke up in fact. Something clicks in the back of his mind and he bites his lip. “Hey, Lydia?” 

"Yeah?" she asks quietly, but with the way he’s holding her, with his hand in the back of her head, she only manages to pull away a little. Reluctantly, because she wasn't really ready to do that yet, but she wants to look at him.

He reluctantly lets her pull away enough to look at him and he meets her eyes, his hands resting on her arms. “The ritual we did.” His voice is hushed and he licks his lips, looking uncertain. “Do you think…” 

If she was going to be sincere with him, she'd let the disappointment show. That this is about the ritual and the supernatural and-- whatever else it is about. But she doesn't know what she was hoping for, either. So she just frowns a little in response. "What about it?"

“How uh, how deep do you think that whole -- tether thing runs?” he asks quietly.

“Oh--” yeah, again, definitely not what she was expecting. “I-- don’t know? Why?”

Stiles presses his lips together. “I’ve been kinda anxious all day and then you got here and I feel calmer than I have since yesterday morning.” He pauses. “And last night -- when we fell asleep. I didn’t have anymore nightmares, and that’s the first time I haven’t had nightmares in a long time.” 

Lydia takes a long deep breath at his words, her eyes widening slightly. “I-- was pretty anxious, too. That’s why I decided to come over,” she explains, sighing as she looks away from him, lifting a hand to push her hair behind her ear. “And I had a really peaceful night when you were over, too.” And of course that whatever is going on with them is thanks to the stupid supernatural.

His eyes widen at that information and he stares at her even as she looks away. “Wait -- are you -- saying you feel it too? Are we feeling each other’s emotions? Or are you just feeling mine? Or -- holy shit.” He starts pacing the floor.

She’s definitely feeling irritated that apparently the supernatural is dictating even what they feel. But then she stills, staring him in confusion, mixed with her own annoyance in addition to a surge of anxiety, she just takes a deep breath. “Stiles, _stop_ ,” she says firmly. She didn’t mean to snap, or to even say that out loud, but that just felt very-- overwhelming.

“Hey, I can’t help it. This is very confusing,” he responds, even if he does stop pacing and turns to face her. “I don’t think this happened with Deaton and Scott.” 

“It doesn’t make any sense,” she says, rubbing her fingers against her temple. “As far as I know, it didn’t happen to Allison and Isaac, either.” 

“Maybe we’re just imagining it. I mean there’s been a lot of crap going on, a lot of reasons to feel anxious and I mean it’s not like it’s a secret that we work really well together.” He feels a twinge of disappointment at the thought that he ignores. “Or maybe we’re just subconsciously picking up on each other’s emotions because we’re good friends and we can read each other really well.” 

“We _have_ always been good at reading each other,” she says, shrugging a shoulder as she makes her way over to his bed and sits down. “Even before we were friends. You actually saw right through me. No one else did.” No one else at all, not even her own dad.

He watches her intently as she moves to sit down and he grabs his desk chair, hooking his leg around it and dragging it closer so he can sit right in front of her. “I just paid attention,” he says quietly. “I mean. Not too many eight year olds can solve a Rubik’s Cube in five minutes. Or at all.” 

Lydia looks at him as he comes closer to her, watching him for a moment as she leans her elbows on her legs, clasping her hands together and pursing her lips. "No one else did. Besides, even for the ritual, Deaton paired us up together on purpose." And she has no idea what that means, it's one of the questions she never got an answer for.

Stiles drops his gaze to her hands and then reaches out and covers them with his own. “Maybe we should talk to him.” His voice is quiet.

“Is he even back?” she asks, cocking her head a little. She knows he left to try and help them figure out the Chimeras, but a little more information from Deaton would have been nice.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He’s not even aware that his thumb is brushing gently back and forth over her wrist. “I guess we’re on our own with this til he gets back.” 

She barely notices it too, but it’s helping. Definitely helping. “So what do we do?” She has one suggestion, but, she’ll see what he comes up with first.

His gaze drops involuntarily to her mouth for the briefest of seconds and then he draws in a deep breath, sitting up a little straighter -- more to try and refocus than anything. “Same way you’d test any other hypothesis? Trials.” 

Lydia takes a deep breath, too, even though she doesn’t notice the look he gave her. “Okay.” She sits up. “So, what we need to do is expose both subjects to the same environment and figure out how we react to them. Together and separately.” 

His heart is beating a little faster. “Okay, well, how did you sleep last night?” 

And _that_ was her suggestion. “Well. I had nightmares about the doctors pretty much the entire night. You?” 

He grimaces at that. “The usual nightmares featuring the nogitsune and a brief appearance by Donovan.” He looks away. 

This time, she pulls her hands from his and take them instead, setting their adjoined hands on her lap. “Okay, well, we’re both reading that stupid book, so it might be causing the nightmares. Which-- is good from an experiment point of view. We know they’re likely to happen again tonight and we already have data from one night that tells us we didn’t have nightmares when we were together at my house.” Meaning, they should try again. At the very least two more times. But the truth is, the bigger their pool, the more sure they can be this theory is correct.

“So then…” He lifts his gaze to meet hers once more. “You wanna spend the night?” His heart is suddenly beating a little more quickly in his chest. 

“I think I should,” she says, sitting up too, but keeping as neutral as possible even though her heart is also beating fast. “Either that or you can come over again.”

“Well, we know it worked at your house for sure. Maybe we should try it here just to rule out the setting having anything to do with it?” He bites his lower lip, arching his eyebrows.

“Yes, good point.” And then, because she needs to make a point she’s serious about this, she squeezes his hands and then stands up, picking up his white pencil and drawing a table on the corner of his board. “So, subject 1, subject 2, experiment 1, and experiment 2. We should also add nights when we’re apart so we can keep track if we had nightmares on all of them.”

He watches as she writes on his board, handwriting so much neater than his own. “Yeah, good idea. Some people do sleep journals, to record their dreams and how often they wake up and everything throughout the night. To try and notice the patterns. Think we should do that, too?” He moves to stand right beside her at the board.

“Good idea,” she says back to him, adding another table called incidents, and a row for times. “I guess it’s possible that if this is something about-- us, the nightmares would be linked, too. Especially in time, even if not in subject.” 

“That makes sense,” he murmurs, glancing at her sideways. “Even if the nightmares themselves aren’t exactly similar, if we’re having nightmares at the same time -- that could mean something too. Like we’re picking up on each other’s distress?” 

“Yeah. I need to figure out how that works, like with--” she pauses. Lydia stares at him for a moment, then takes a deep breath as she changes where she was going with this at all. “I think-- I remember a time when it might have happened. Between us, I mean.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You do?” That catches him off guard. 

“You know the day when they found you at the coyote den? When I thought you were at Eichen and led everyone there?” she whispers quietly, looking down at the board rather than looking directly at him.

Stiles holds his breath for a second, reaching out and lacing his fingers with hers. “Yeah.” 

“All day, I was hypersensitive. I’ve never felt anything like that at any other point before. But it was almost like everything was too loud, too bright. My head was killing me. Any noises felt like they were attacks, everything felt disorienting. So when Scott asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital to see you after school, I told him I was just gonna go home. Because I didn’t want to worry him more,” she whispers quietly, fingers flexing around his. “But when I got into my car, the next thing I knew, I was sitting outside of the hospital.”

He’s silent for a moment as he listens to what she’s saying. His heart is beating even more quickly as his mind puts together the pieces to the puzzle he hadn’t even known about until now. The night that the nogitsune had taken over for good. “And then what happened? For you, I mean.” 

“It got worse. Louder and louder and louder. A clanking noise. Like metal. It felt like it was inside my brain. It was physically painful and I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. And then I screamed,” she says quietly. “But it wasn’t a banshee scream. At least Scott didn’t hear it, and he was just inside the building. I don’t know what it was.”

“Clanking noise,” he murmurs, fingers tightening around hers just a little. “Like -- the sound an MRI machine makes when you’re inside of it.” It isn’t really a question. The timing of it isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be. “Lydia, that’s what started it.” He swallows heavily. “The electromagnetic crap from the MRI. You were having all that happen because that’s when it was taking over.” His voice is hushed.

“I know it was the MRI machine,” she whispers, her eyes tearing up a little as she lifts to cup his face with her free hand. “Scott texted me a little after and told me about the MRI. But-- it felt different from anything else I’ve ever felt, Stiles. It didn’t feel like _death_. It felt like-- panic. Like fear.” Like chaos.

He lets out a breath, leaning into her touch instinctively and lifting his other hand to cover hers. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. He closes his eyes. “I’m sorry you went through that because of me.” 

“No. Stiles, don’t be sorry. It doesn’t bother me, okay? I just wish I had figured out more about it _then_ so I could have helped you. But it’s not your fault. None of it is,” she says quietly, brushing her thumb against his cheek gently, watching him closely. “It just-- didn’t feel like the banshee stuff normally does, that’s why I wanted to tell you about it.” 

Stiles bites down on his lip and nods, opening his eyes to look at her again. “And it’s never happened before?” 

She shakes her head, dropping her hand from his face to his shoulder. “And not since.” 

He considers that for a moment. He hasn’t really been in that same sort of danger since the nogitsune, except the night a couple weeks ago when Donovan attacked him. He grows still, meeting her eyes. “The night you were hurt,” he murmurs. “I mean, by Tracy. I knew as soon as I saw blood on the floor that it was yours. I don’t know how I knew, but I knew it wasn’t my dad’s or Malia’s or Kira’s.” 

Lydia stares at him for a moment at that information. That night was-- something else. A different experience, too. She just isn’t sure how to explain what she felt when she saw him standing there. “Were you-- how anxious did you get?” How close was he to a panic attack? “When you got there, I mean?” 

Stiles lets out a breath. “Seeing one of the people I love the most laying on the floor bleeding out and being powerless to do anything? Pretty anxious.” As in, he’d been pretty sure he’d stopped breathing for a full minute. 

And as he lets out a breath, she holds hers. Her eyes tear up a little at his words and just how easily he says that to her. She squeezes his hand and for a second, just watches him. “You looked, or-- I don’t know. Felt like you were gonna have a panic attack.” Laying there on the floor, seeing him looking at her like that, she just wanted to make it better for him. To help him calm down. It was like-- a moment earlier she felt like she was about to pass out, but he helped her focus on him. And she was able to talk to him. To try and help him. 

“Everything was -- slowed down. Muffled,” he admits. “Like background noise. I could hear people yelling, but I couldn’t hear what they were saying. It was all a blur, you know? Like there were people all around but all I could see was you lying there and I thought.” He swallows hard, rubbing a hand over his face. “I thought that was it. I thought you were gonna leave me. It was like a panic attack, only worse.” 

“Yeah,” she whispers quietly, keeping her eyes on him. It reminds her of watching him laying on the floor, unconscious after they got rid of the Nogitsune. And feeling death. She just didn’t realize at the time that it wasn’t _his_ death. But she thought it was and she couldn’t say anything to the others. They had _just_ lost Allison, they hadn’t even had time to process losing her yet. Lydia takes a deep, calming breath and shakes her head a little. “I just, wanted to say something to you, I don’t know. I couldn’t really focus on anything for a while. Until you showed up.” And then she knew she couldn’t just pass out. She had to stay awake. 

“And I couldn’t focus on anything until you said my name,” he admits. “It was like -- your voice snapped me back into my body. Does that make sense?” His voice is quiet and he reaches up and takes her hand again. He hesitates. “Like that day in the locker room.” 

Lydia nods slightly, wrapping her fingers around his. That was what she’d been thinking about then, too. About helping him focus on her and not on whatever thoughts were making him look like that. Try to pull him back. “Wait, Stiles. Isn’t that what Deaton said when we were doing the ritual? About-- tethers? That we were supposed to pull you back.” 

“Not just someone to hold you under, someone who can pull you back. Someone with a strong connection to you,” he murmurs. He swallows hard, nodding and flexing his fingers around hers involuntarily.

Her heart sinks a little and she nods slightly. She’s fairly sure his initial suggestion is right, that this is because of the ritual, but this seems to be enough evidence. At least to Stiles’ three proofs method. “So-- you think everything is just because of the ritual?”

He starts to respond, and then shuts his mouth once more, something else flashing through his mind. “Maybe not,” he says after a moment. 

“Meaning what?” she asks, cocking her head as she watches him closely.

Stiles rakes a hand through his hair, moving back to sit on the bed, but he stops just short of it and turns to look at her again. “I mean we were...finding each other before we did the ritual. I mean it seemed like a coincidence at the time it was happening, but now…” Now he’s not so sure.

Lydia wraps her arms around herself when he walks away, then pauses at his words, cocking her head. “What are you talking about? All that stuff happened after the ritual.” 

“Not all of it,” he says quietly, suddenly looking uncertain. “There was the night of the winter formal, and the night you showed back up after you’d gone missing in the woods, and that night you were in your car in the parking lot and when you saved me and Scott that night at the Glen Capri and-- the locker room thing. That all happened before we did the ritual. But it still happened and it was real.” 

She considers that for a moment, then makes her way over to the bed, sitting down next to him rather than on his chair. “But most of those things were just-- mostly us reacting to things, I don’t know. I mean, the night you found me in the woods, I don’t really remember anything up until the point I stepped out and you and your dad were there, so maybe--” Lydia pauses, frowning slightly. “Wait, what did you mean about the winter formal?” 

“Scott was trying to track you that night, but then you were just suddenly there. I think maybe you found me.” It’s his working theory at the moment anyway. Sure, he’d been looking for her, too, half the school and the entire police force had been looking for her. But can it really be a coincidence that she just _happened_ to find him and his dad, of all the people who were out looking? He doesn’t think he believes in coincidences like that anymore. 

But then she asks about winter formal and he’s up again, pacing as he chews his thumbnail. He doesn’t really know why he hasn’t told her what really happened that night by now. He’d had his reasons at first, that hadn’t just involved protecting Scott. But that’s been a long time ago now. He blows out a breath. “I ran into Jackson that night after you went looking for him. He said he hadn’t seen you, so I went looking. I just had this bad feeling,” he admits quietly. A lot had gone wrong that night. A hell of a lot. 

“I don’t know _why_ I went to the lacrosse field. I guess maybe at the time I thought you’d gone there because you thought _Jackson_ had gone there, but...It was the first place I thought to look out of every other place I could have gone looking.” He shrugs a shoulder and keeps pacing. “And I don’t know, when it’s all lumped together like this then I can’t help but think maybe it was less of a coincidence and more of...something else.” 

“So you’re the one who found me. Both times.” It’s not a question. If he was the one out in the lacrosse field, then he’s the one who found her. Lydia takes a deep breath and shakes her head a little, rubbing a hand over her face. “It makes sense, what you’re saying. That these are not just coincidences. But-- what does it _mean_? Did Deaton have another reason to pair us up? Did something happen to us before the ritual that we never even realized?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits, starting to pace again. “I mean, he’s a perceptive guy so maybe he just sorta picked up on…” He hesitates. “You know, my feelings for you.” He’s pretty sure most of the people in school knew how he felt about her. Hiding his emotions isn’t something he’s ever been very good at. And Deaton’s more perceptive than most. Hell maybe Scott had even mentioned his crush on Lydia at some point. 

Lydia drops her hand and slowly lifts her head to look at him again. Of course she knew he used to have a crush on her, a lot of guys in school did. And she got why. She didn’t talk to them, she dressed better than most people, and she was popular. She was basically unattainable and people just liked to fantasize about her. She liked that, the attention. But none of them really knew her. But that was then when he was just one more person in school who stared at her when she walked by. 

Now he’s _Stiles_. He’s her best friend and he’s the person who knows her better than anyone else. And for him to just bring that up and throw it at her like that. She shakes her head a little, taking a deep breath. “You had a crush on me when we barely even knew each other, Stiles. I don’t think that counts for much.” She needs to minimize it, because otherwise, it just makes her ask too many questions she doesn’t really want to ask. 

He gives her a dubious look, like he wants to argue, because he does. He wants to point out that it isn’t her clothes or popularity that had drawn him to her all those years ago, it was her brain. It was how she always knew the answers to all the questions their teachers had asked over the years even if she’d stopped raising her hand to answer them the older they got. 

“I knew you pretty well at that point,” he responds instead, pursing his lips. And knowing her personally hadn’t gotten rid of his crush. It just made it turn from a crush into something a lot deeper. “But okay, then let’s talk about the process of elimination. Scott and Allison and I all had to go under. Who were the other options to be my connection back to life? Deaton?” He shakes his head. “I’ve never fully trusted the guy. And Isaac?” A short laugh escapes him. “Get real. I wouldn’t have come back at all.” 

“Okay, well, so I was just the person closest to you out of the three of us. That’s why he told me to go with you.” Which is a much better explanation than some crush he _used_ to have. “And then the ritual could explain everything else that’s been happening but-- that still doesn’t explain everything else.” 

“Exactly,” he says quietly. “We’re missing something. But I have no idea what it is.” He turns to look at his board for a moment. He can even remember once telling her that he felt like they’d had some kind of connection, but she’d been on the phone and hadn’t heard him. But that was so long ago. Before everything went to hell. “I don’t know, Lydia.” 

Sighing softly, she stands back up, looking at the corner of the board where she added the tables. “I guess we can-- see if this works still and try to come up with other ways to test it until Deaton comes--” she pauses when she hears the Sheriff yelling _dinner!_ from downstairs. 

“After we eat?” she adds quietly, turning back to Stiles.

“After we eat,” he agrees, nodding and reaching out, resting a hand on her back and guiding her toward the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, we have changed a few things in canon to be able to fit what we want to tell. The main thing you may notice is that Lydia's suppressed memory is different and Stiles was eight instead of ten when Claudia died. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

They told Sheriff that they had some things to work on, so Lydia was gonna stay the night. She did notice him giving them both surprised looks when they mentioned it, but he didn’t really say anything, so Lydia figured he was okay enough with her staying over.

So after dinner they went back upstairs, made an actual list of all of the times they could think of that something had been unusual between them and tried to figure out what could have triggered it. 

By the time they finished, Lydia was getting tired, so she asked Stiles to borrow some clothes, since the dress she had on was hardly comfortable enough to sleep in. 

Once she’s changed, she steps back into his room. His boxers are too big on her so she had to fold them a couple of times at the waist and his t-shirt (which has a drawing of a chick, and a magnet on it) is almost long enough to cover the boxers completely. With her dress neatly folded over her arms, her hair now neatly braided, she smiles a little at Stiles. “Bathroom is all yours.”

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing tiredly at his eyes and yawning when he hears her footsteps approaching and he rises to his feet as she steps into the room. He wills himself not to stare at her, but she’s wearing his clothes and they’re way too big for her tiny frame, but they still look better on her than they ever have on him. He motions to the shirt. “It’s uh, it was meant to be ironic,” he jokes. 

“Mhmm.” It’s definitely a mocking tone as she places her dress over his desk, then turns to face him again. “Just do me a favor and never wear this in public again? It’s embarrassing.”

“And yet out of all the clothes in my closet, it’s the one _you_ picked,” he points out as he heads for the door with his own pajamas in hand. 

“It was on top of the pile!” she mock gasps at him, smirking a little a second later. “Besides, I figured that if someone wore it to sleep, you’d give up on it as a statement.” 

He snorts involuntarily and glances at her over his shoulder. “An _ironic_ statement!” He closes the bathroom door behind him and shakes his head, amusement clear in his voice. 

Lydia grins softly as she watches him leave then reaches for her phone, checking her texts for a moment and rolling her eyes at her mom’s response to her saying she was spending the night at Stiles’. _Be safe!_ She makes her way over to his bed, taking a moment to look at both sides. The bedside table on the left is definitely more cluttered so she walks over to the right side and pulls the covers back, making herself comfortable.

He returns a few moments later, after changing and brushing his teeth. He’s got on a pair of black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt. He holds his breath for a second as he spots her already curling up in his bed and he takes a slow breath and shuts the door behind him before making his way to the bed and sitting down on the edge of it. This had been a lot easier the other night when they’d _accidentally_ fallen asleep together. Thinking about it is...less easy. He glances at her over his shoulder before he lifts his legs up onto the bed and turns on his side so he’s lying down facing her. 

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly, turning on her side to face him, too once he lays down. “The side, I mean.” She knows he’s okay with her staying there since they obviously planned for this. Even if he seems to be looking slightly uncomfortable. And maybe she’s feeling his anxiety rather than being anxious herself. Assuming that’s how this works.

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Normally the right side of the bed is the side he sleeps on, but having her there instead doesn’t bother him. He lays his head down on his pillow, gazing at her wordlessly.

She watches him back for a long moment, then smiles softly and reaches out to take his hand in hers. One thing they agreed on was that for whatever reason, they seem to feel calmer when they’re around each other. And what they left unspoken is that apparently touching each other helps a lot, too.

Stiles doesn’t hesitate to link his fingers with hers when she takes his hand. He tucks his other hand under his head and smiles a little, shifting closer to her. “Just...like this then?” he asks, a little uncertain. 

Lydia arches her eyebrows at the question. Because discussing these things out loud, while important, can make things awkward. “ Are you comfortable?” she asks. Because this is pretty far from the very intimate spooning that happened when he spent the night at her house.

“Are you?” he asks immediately, lifting his head off his hand and pillow just a little. 

And Lydia is suddenly distracted by the very realistic mental image of herself just lifting her head and leaning closer to him, pressing her lips to his, cupping his face in her hand and just _kissing_ him. Instead, she finds herself licking her lips and looking away. But now it’s pretty clear that facing him is a bad idea. A really bad idea considering how fast her heart is beating all of the sudden.

So she just takes a deep breath and, with her hand still wrapped around his, turns his back to him, pulling his arm around her as she does. Mimicking the position they woke up in the other night.

His breathing hitches when she licks her lips, but then turns over so her back is to him. She drags his arm around her waist and he hesitantly shifts closer, resting his head back down again and closing his eyes. He links her fingers through hers once more, the tension draining out of him slowly. “Better,” he admits very quietly.

Lydia sighs deeply, allowing herself to relax some when he voices his approval. “Yeah,” she echoes, but doesn’t look over at him, just hugs his arm to her chest instead. Definitely not looking back at him sounds like a better plan than anything else. 

“Is this okay for you, too?” he asks quietly. He wants her to be comfortable with this, with him. She doesn’t feel as tense as she had a moment ago so he thinks she’s okay, but he needs to double check just to make sure. 

“Yeah,” she repeats, and this time turns her head a little toward him, but looking up instead of toward him. But she knows it’s not his fault that she’s suddenly thinking of things she definitely shouldn’t been thinking of. So she adds: “Feels much more comfortable.”

Stiles nods at that and falls silent for a long few moments. His heart is still beating faster than usual, but it’s not because he’s _anxious._ It’s because he’s _snuggling_ with Lydia, and it’s not because they accidentally wound up cuddling while they slept, but because they have some kind of connection that neither of them really understands but they both want to understand. 

And she can feel it. She’s not sure if she can just feel his anxiety because of this thing, or if it’s because they know each other so well, or maybe because she can feel his heart beating against her back because he’s pressed against her. Which she’s totally okay with, obviously. She’s just not sure why. “What’s wrong?” she asks quietly, this time turning her head more toward him.

“What? Nothing,” he says with a frown, shaking his head a little. “Why do you think something’s wrong?” His fingers tighten around hers just a little. 

Lydia rolls her eyes very deliberately and actually looks at him this time. Like they didn’t spend most of the night discussing things they just know about each other and have zero explanation for.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ ,” he insists as he meets her eyes. “Seriously. It’s just...this is new. I mean, aside from the other night.” 

She cocks her head a little. And she shouldn’t ask. She knows she shouldn’t ask. “Didn’t Malia spend the night here a lot?” She definitely shouldn’t have asked. She’s not his girlfriend, and despite what her mom might think, they’re definitely not having sex. But there it is.

The question catches him off guard a little and his eyes widen. “W-what? Yeah? So? What does that have to do with anything?” If he didn’t have an arm wrapped around her he’d probably have flailed himself right off the edge of the bed. 

She frowns a little at his defensiveness and almost, _almost_ turns around again to face him. But she catches herself. “ _Nothing_ ,” she says, taking a deep breath and turning to look away from him again. But her arm is still around his, her hand still wrapped around his. “I just figured you’d be more used to not sleeping alone than, sleeping alone.” 

“Okay it’s less that than it is the person I’m sleeping _with._ ” His eyes widen a little more.

This time, she’s the one who tenses. “ _Right_.” And then she lets go of his hand, but feels the need to pretend she’s going to fix her braid because she doesn’t want to be _too_ obvious about how much that stings. “If you’re uncomfortable, we don’t have to do this, Stiles. I can just go.” 

He feels her tense and he curses himself inwardly when she pulls her hand away. Instinctively he reaches up and touches her shoulder. “I don’t _want_ you to go, Lydia,” he says honestly, sitting up a little. “That’s not -- I just meant that...Malia isn’t _you_.” His voice grows more quiet. 

She sits up a second after he does. She’s not entirely sure why this is happening. They were fine just minutes ago. And now she really is seconds away from just getting up and leaving. Isn’t the point of this to help each other and be comfortable? This is doing the exact opposite of that. “She’s definitely not,” she agrees, arching her eyebrows a little. Because she doesn’t know what, exactly, that is supposed to mean.

“You mean more to me than she does,” Stiles admits, and he feels sort of horrible for not only admitting it, but for knowing it’s the truth. 

Lydia pauses at that, instantly feeling like a horrible person, too. For making him say that, for asking him the question to begin with. And for feeling the same way about him. Right now, he even means more to her than Jackson did back when they were together. She can be herself with Stiles. Her face falls and she sighs softly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I really wasn’t nervous,” he tells her, meeting her eyes. “It’s just a new thing for us to be cuddling. I like it. It’s just going to take some time to get used to the idea of that being a thing now. That’s all.” 

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly. And his honesty, his openness about how he’s really feeling inspires her to do the same. Because it’s Stiles and she doesn’t have to protect herself around him. Not-- about this, anyway. “I guess that’s what made me anxious, too. Because it is new and-- I’m not sure what to expect. But it is comfortable, like I said. And I know it sounds weird to say this, but I did feel really safe that day at my house.” 

He smiles a little at her, expression softening at her last words. It’s so weird for him to hear that he makes anyone feel safe, considering all of their friends are powerful supernaturals and he definitely isn’t. “I did too.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You know it’s kinda funny. We’re the only two without super strength or crazy Samurai sword abilities but we make it work when we’re together.” 

“What did you say about teamwork and keeping each other alive the other day?” She smiles softly back at him, shrugging a shoulder. “We do work really well together.”

“Yeah, we do. We make a good team,” he agrees, relaxing at her easy agreement. “We have for a long time.” Since she’d been in on the truth about the supernatural stuff around Beacon Hills. He wishes they’d trusted her earlier on, let her in on things sooner. But maybe it all happened for a reason. 

“Yeah, we have,” she agrees easily again. And part of her wishes this had happened sooner, that she had become friends with him and Scott when they were younger. She’s fairly sure she’d be a much better person now if she had. But she knows she’s lucky enough that she got to know them at all considering they’ve been on opposite sides of the school’s social circles most of their lives. “Do you think you can go to sleep?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Do you think you can, too?” he asks, leaning closer and gently bumping his shoulder against hers. 

“Yeah, I think so,” she bumps back into him, looking at him for a moment. She’s definitely feeling better about this whole thing. More relaxed than she was when they first laid down. She hopes it helped him too. This time, when she lays back down, she doesn’t even bother pretending, just turns her back to him. 

He smiles and lies down behind her, this time not hesitating to wrap his arm around her waist. He also doesn’t hesitate to curl up right against her, his face buried against her neck and her braid. Yeah. This is definitely better. 

* * * 

Despite only having one class this semester, Lydia makes her way to school just a little after everyone else. Spending the night with Stiles was -- really nice again. She slept extremely well and she feels pretty relaxed. It wasn’t awkward in the morning anymore than it had been at her house. Actually, it was even nicer because they both knew what was happening and that the other had made a conscious decision to be there.

She didn’t stay for breakfast, though. Not because she didn’t want to, but because she knows how long it takes her to get ready for school in the morning. Neither one of them had a nightmare, which was definitely good. But now she knows they need to experiment on not spending the night together, which she’s absolutely not looking forward to. Even if she knows it’s necessary so they can compare data. 

For now, she’s not thinking about that, though. She’s just sitting on one of the outside tables, reading that terrible book instead when she feels someone approaching her. 

“Hey Kira,” Lydia greets when she sees the other girl.

Kira smiles at her and waves as she approaches and sits down across from her. “Hi, Lydia. How was your weekend?” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and sets her bookbag down beside her on the bench. 

“Aside from this?” She lifts the book then shrugs a shoulder. “Pretty good. Yours?”

She makes a face at the book and sighs softly. “Same.” She glances around and then leans in a little. “Malia came over Friday night. I was hanging out with Scott and Liam.” 

The fact that Kira says that the four of them were hanging out isn’t really unusual. The way she words it? That’s definitely odd. But Lydia knows exactly what happened on Friday and she knows Malia told them the same night, so she half knows where Kira is getting at. “Yeah? What did you guys do?”

“Talked for awhile and then we watched a movie.” She pauses. “Have you talked to Stiles or Malia?” 

Lydia figures she’ll make this easier on Kira. She can still be pretty awkward, which can be an endearing quality at times, she supposes. “Yeah. Stiles came over on Friday.” She figures there’s no reason to lie to her about that. Even if she’ll choose not to mention he spent the night.

“ _Oh._ Then you know about...the breakup.” Her voice grows more quiet.

“I do,” she says, nodding slightly as she watches Kira closely. “How’s Malia doing?”

“Surprisingly well considering it’s her first breakup.” Kira arches her eyebrows. “I guess she just adapts really well.” 

Lydia purses her lips together in response. She doesn’t wanna say too much because-- she feels like Stiles confided in her about his relationship with Malia not being too great for a while now. And if he wants to share that with Kira, then it’s his to share, not hers. But now she’s a little worried that what she said to Stiles about seeing the other person happy is what hurts the most may end up hurting _him_. And she’s never been Malia’s biggest fan to begin with. If she hurts Stiles? They’ll have bigger problems. “I’m glad she’s doing well,” she says blandly. 

“Is Stiles okay?” she asks, voice growing more quiet as she watches Lydia. “I haven’t seen him all weekend.” 

“He’s okay. I think the fact that we have a lot going on right now will help them both.” And she’s personally committed to making sure Stiles _is_ okay and spending as little time alone as possible. “Although I do think we need to keep face-to-face pack meetings to a minimum for a week or so at least.”

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” She shifts in her seat and curls a leg up beneath her so she’s sitting on it. She gazes at Lydia for a moment. “Can I ask you something? It’s kinda personal.” 

And now Lydia is pretty sure she’s gonna find out where, exactly, Kira wanted to go with this conversation when she first came over to her. “Sure,” she says as she arches her eyebrows. She trusts Kira to have enough sense not to cross the personal line too far.

She glances around again, to make sure no one with super hearing is around and then she leans in a little. “Do you...like Stiles? I mean, you know. _Like_ him?” 

And apparently she _shouldn’t_ have trusted Kira’s judgement on what is _too_ personal. Lydia sits up a little and takes a second to figure out how to answer this. She doesn’t wanna take too long because she doesn’t want it to look like she’s hiding something but-- _is she_? 

“He’s-- my best friend.” She knows she loves Stiles, and she knows that since they started spending more time with each other again she’s been _happier_. Regardless of everything else that’s going on, with him by her side, she knows they’ll make it through this too. And while calling him her best friend doesn’t really feel _right_ , both because Stiles represents something else for her and because Allison will always be the person she thinks of when she thinks of a best friend, it’s the closest thing she can come up with right now.

If Allison _was_ there, Lydia is fairly sure she’d be giving her a look. A knowing look and a smirk that would mean she and Stiles would suddenly end up in a double date with her a couple of weeks from now. And Lydia is fairly sure she wouldn’t mind that so much. But Allison isn’t there. And she’s not sure how to figure this one out on her own just yet.

Kira bites back a smile but her eyes are a little wider and she nods. “You guys are really good together. I mean, in that best friend way.” It isn’t exactly what she means, but there’s no reason for her to be pushy about it.

Lydia takes a deep breath at that and nods slightly. She knows what Kira is doing, obviously. But she doesn’t really want to acknowledge it just yet. Because-- she needs time. And Stiles obviously needs time since he _just_ broke up with his first girlfriend ever two days ago. On top of that, they’re suddenly in a really good place again and she doesn’t wanna ruin that. “Thanks, Kira.” 

She smiles and pulls out a bottle of juice from her bag, opening it and taking a drink. “Sure thing.” 

Lydia returns the smile then looks back at the book in front of her, turning the page and stilling for a moment. “That’s _it_? That’s how it ends?” she asks, frowning hard and turning to look at the back cover before looking at Kira again. “Did you finish it?” 

Kira hesitates, then shakes her head and looks down. “I can’t seem to focus on the words,” she admits. 

“He’s very far from writing a bestseller, I couldn’t--” Lydia pauses and in an instant, she’s on her feet and looking over her shoulder. She stares at the parking lot just as a black SUV screeches to a halt inches away from a girl. 

_”Lydia! I told you to wait in the car!” Her mom yells at her, but Lydia can’t hear her._

_She inches forward slowly, looking down at the upside down car and the redhead laying halfway out of the window. There’s blood, so much blood all around her._

_Swallowing hard, Lydia comes closer. Her hand stretching out toward her sister’s still form. Her mom and the Sheriff both are talking to her but their voices are muffled in the background. All she can see is Dahlia. And all the blood surrounding her. And she knows she’s gone already. That it’s too late._

* * * 

“Lydia. _Lydia,_ can you hear me?” Stiles cradles her form against him, gently brushing some hair out of her face and trying to ignore both the growing crowd of students gathered around to watch and the feeling of panic in his chest. 

She opens her eyes slowly, looking up at him and blinking a few times before lifting a hand to her head. “I’m okay,” she whispers almost immediately, but makes no move to get up just yet.

“The hell you are,” he mumbles, glancing up at Kira’s worried face before looking back down at her. 

“I’m okay,” she repeats, looking up at Stiles for a moment longer then slowly pushing herself to sit up, even if she’s still laying on him some. She glances around as the people who were looking at them start to walk away. “Is that girl okay?” she vaguely remembers the girl nearly being hit by a car.

“What girl?” he asks uncertainly, keeping an arm around her as much for his own comfort as hers. 

“The one in the parking lot,” she says, looking over toward it but she doesn’t see anything there, so she just takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

His eyebrows furrow a bit, but he lets it go even as he helps her sit up a little more. “You fainted,” he murmurs, expression troubled. 

She shakes her head slightly, looking around to make sure no one is watching them, then turning to face him and leaning a little closer. “I didn’t. It was a memory.”

Stiles holds his breath and then nods a little. “You feel okay to walk?” Aka, let’s go discuss this somewhere in private.

“Yeah,” she looks at him for a second longer then pushes herself up. Her head is still spinning so she does feel a little dizzy on the way up and unconsciously reaches for his hand.

Stiles links his fingers through hers and squeezes her hand gently, guiding her away from the crowd, with Kira following close behind. 

“Should I go find Scott and the others?” 

Lydia pauses at that and looks over at Kira, considering for a moment. On one hand, she knows they’ll be worried. On the other, she really doesn’t wanna share what she just saw with anyone. “Just let them know I’m okay? Rumors spread fast around this school. But not for a--” pack “-- meeting. I don’t have any new information.” And hopefully Kira will remember what Lydia just told her about keeping pack meetings to a minimum. 

Kira meets her eyes and nods, looking uncertain but then giving her a tiny smile. “Text me if I can help somehow,” she says quietly before heading away and leaving the two of them on their own. 

Stiles guides her inside the building and ducks into an empty classroom, pulling her inside. “What’d you remember?” he whispers.

Of course, Stiles being Stiles, he doesn’t even hesitate before asking her that. But this time, she needs a moment. to herself. Lydia takes a deep breath and walks away from him, toward the windows before she speaks up. “A suppressed memory. But it was from when I was little. It had nothing to do with the doctors.”

He frowns at that, cocking his head. “I thought it only brought up suppressed memories about the doctors.” He doesn’t doubt her, because he never has and he’s not going to start now. Maybe he just misunderstood Valack’s words. 

“Apparently not.” Unless, somehow, they were hurting Dahlia, too. “At least, I don’t think it had anything to do with it.” But her face is suddenly paler again and she moves to sit down by one of the front row desks. 

He watches her with growing concern, and moves to sit down right in front of her, laying a hand on her arm. “Hey. What happened, Lydia? What did you remember?” he asks quietly.

With an elbow on the desk, she leans her forehead against her palm and takes a deep breath, not looking at him for a moment. “You don’t remember Dahlia, do you?” she whispers quietly before finally lifting her head.

His eyebrows furrow. “Dahlia?” 

Lydia swallows hard, her eyes tearing up slightly. She hasn’t talked about her in so long, even if she did think about her a lot. Especially when she lost Allison, too. “My sister,” she whispers very quietly. 

All the air leaves his lungs as he stares at her with wide eyes. Wordlessly he scoots his own desk closer to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He didn’t even remember that she had a sister. He’s not sure he ever _knew_.

“She, hm--” Lydia leans into him when he wraps an arm around her shoulders, and she really appreciates the comfort. It does help. It makes her feel a little more focused. A little more grounded. “She was killed in a car accident when I was little. My parents -- mostly my dad -- didn’t like talking about her much. So we didn’t.”

“Oh, Lydia.” He rests his head against hers. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even know,” he whispers. “Were you two close?” 

“Yeah.” And she spent so many years suppressing so many thoughts and feelings about Dahlia that right now, she just feels numb. Like her sister is a distant dream that she can barely remember anymore. “She argued with my parents a lot, so she spent as much time as she could away from the house. But when she was there, she was with me.”

He closes his eyes and rubs her arm gently up and down without really thinking about it. “What uh -- what did you remember? I mean, if you wanna tell me. You don’t have to.” 

“Going to the scene with my mom. And-- seeing her.” She finally lays her head on his shoulder and sighs deeply. “I don’t remember much about that night, but I do remember my father wasn’t home. I guess my mom didn’t wanna leave me on my own. She told me to stay in the car, but I got out anyway.” And she saw too much.

He tightens his arms around her a little, instinctively, and kisses her temple without thinking about that, either. “I’m so sorry, Lydia,” he whispers. 

For a long moment, she just leans on him, silent as she tries to wrap her head around it, make sense of things. Eventually, she just sighs deeply and lifts her head. “I don’t understand. Why would would I be seeing this now? And not-- anything about the doctors?” 

“I don’t know,” he admits with a grimace. But he does know one thing, and that’s that he’s going to have to finish reading that damn book tonight. 

“I think I’m just gonna go to class and then go home and see if I can figure anything else out.” She really rather not miss a class if she can help it. 

“You sure?” He sort of hates that the one class she has is one he isn’t in. Especially right now.

“There’s not much else I can do,” she says, cocking her head a little to look at him. “And I really am okay.” Physically, anyway. Emotionally she’s just disconnected. And that’s better for now. 

“Okay.” He doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t want to argue with her either. She knows how she’s feeling. “I’m done at noon. Maybe we can go grab lunch somewhere.” Usually he sticks around the school, hangs around the library. But he hasn’t been doing that since the night of his fight with Donovan. He doesn’t have any desire to go near it anymore. 

“Okay,” she agrees quietly. For the most part, because she knows he’s worried about her. But also because she doesn’t think she’ll want to spend too much time on her own if she does start thinking about her sister. And, of course, because Stiles makes her feel better in general. “You can come over when you’re done. We’ll go somewhere.” 

“Sounds like a plan.” He gives her a gentle, affectionate squeeze. “You want me to grab you a bottle of water or anything before we split up?”

“That’s okay,” she says, leaning into him when he squeezes her, but then she pauses. “How did you find me outside?” Because she’s fairly sure he was just in class. And mostly, she wants to know if this was a tether thing.

He pauses. “I was on my way to second period and then I was just...sorta…” He takes a deep breath. “There.” 

“So you think it was--” she trails off, and focusing on this right now is definitely helpful. Answers and things that might not actually be a bad thing are definitely preferable to wondering whether or not those things were hurting her sister before she died.

“Yeah. I mean there was no other reason for me to go outside. I just felt like I needed to get some air,” he admits. 

“One more point for the tether, I guess,” she says quietly. And she’s still not sure how she feels about that, but she supposes that if it’s something that will lead her to Stiles whenever he’s injured or in trouble, it’s a good thing. 

“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, pulling back to study her intently, just to make sure she’s really okay. Her color is already more normal again, and he’s glad. He doesn’t like seeing her so pale and...unconscious. “If you start feeling dizzy or anything, text me?” 

Lydia smiles a little when she sees him looking at her like that, then leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek. She’s not sure why she did it, but she just wanted to reassure him, somehow. And it happened way too fast for her to stop herself, which is why she’s on her feet just an instant later. Luckily, her head doesn’t spin when she gets up, though. “I will. But I’ll be okay and I’ll see you for lunch.” 

Stiles’ expression shifts when she kisses his cheek, but she’s up and moving so fast after that _his_ head kind of spins. “See you for lunch,” he confirms, looking slightly dazed. 

She’s really glad he’s not a werewolf, because her heart is definitely beating a lot faster as she makes her way back to the hall. In the back of her head, she’s still getting flashes of her sister and the car accident, but she’s most definitely pushing those thoughts away until she’s home. And any thoughts about what she just did, why she just did it, and her brief conversation with Kira, too. Otherwise her head will start to spin again.

***

_When his mom flees her hospital room, he follows. He can’t let her out of his sight. It’s his job to watch over her._

_He’s eight years old and his mother is dying, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, just like there’s nothing he can do but freeze in place as she stands on the roof, at the edge, like she’s going to jump._

_He doesn’t even know his dad’s there until he speaks and moves past Stiles. He’s not sure his dad knows he’s there._

_“Claudia? What are you doing up there?”_

_“I couldn’t stand to be in that room anymore. Not with him looking at me like that.” Her voice is upset and Stiles knows he’s the reason._

_“Claudia.”_

_“He’s trying to hurt me. I don’t care if you believe me. He’s trying to kill me,” she insists, and Stiles stays silent, in the shadows, a couple of tears rolling down his cheeks._

_“No, that’s not true,” his dad says quietly, shaking his head. “Come on down. Come here. You have to remind yourself that it’s the disease. Remember what the dementia does? It gives you delusions. It makes you think people are out to get you.”_

_His mom looks right at him, eyes accusing. “You don’t see the way he looks at me.”_

_“Claudia, he’s eight years old,” Sheriff Stilinski tries to reason with her._

_“He’s trying to kill me.” She looks over at Stiles, yanking herself away from her husband and storming toward him, angry. “Stop it! Stop looking at me like that! Stop it! Stop looking at me!” She’s hitting him now and he’s on the ground, yelling for her to stop, flinching as she pummels him._

_He’s pretty sure she hates him, blames him for her illness._

He’s being attacked. It doesn’t register immediately because he’s somewhere still between a memory and reality, but then hands are wrapped around his throat and he can’t breathe. The face staring down at him isn’t his mother’s. He doesn’t recognize the kid who’s trying to kill him, and Stiles isn’t sure exactly what kind of supernatural he is, but he’s not a werewolf. 

And then the guy is pulled off of him, thrown a few feet away and Stiles rolls, coughing as he tries to get to his feet. 

Theo is there, fighting with his attacker. Where the hell had he even _come from?_ He feels like he’s waking up from one of his nightmares, and in a way he kind of is, except this is worse. A second later, Theo’s ripping the guy’s throat out, and blood is everywhere. 

“You can’t tell,” Theo says the second he looks up and sees Stiles staring at him, blood all over his hands and face. “You can’t tell the others.”

Stiles stares at him, disbelief all over his face. “Why not?” 

“Because I never told them about Donovan,” he explains, eyes wide as he takes a deep breath.

His own eyes narrow, however and without thinking, he moves toward Theo, gaining speed as he closes the distance between them, and he shoves him up against the fence around the electrical system. 

Theo doesn’t react, he just lets Stiles push him. “He was going to murder _you_ , and me.” 

His heart is beating fast in his chest as he stares at the other boy. “What do you know about Donovan?” His voice is hushed. “Who _are_ you? What the hell do you want?” 

“I just know what I saw. I saw him falling and you walking away. And then I heard the police--” Theo shakes his head, eyes wide and on Stiles. “I just want a pack.” 

Stiles’s jaw tightens ever so slightly and he reluctantly lets go of him, taking a couple of steps away. He hears the door to the hospital roof entrance open and he glances toward it, spotting Lydia. He turns back to Theo. “The cops are on the way.” 

Theo glances over at Lydia, then back at Stiles, shaking his head. “We can’t just leave him here. He’s shifted!” 

Lydia quickly makes her way straight to Stiles when he pulls away from Theo, her eyes wide as she glances down at the body, then back at Stiles. As she grabs on to his arm, the fact that his hands are clean and Theo’s are covered in blood doesn’t escape her. “What happened? Are you okay?” 

He forces himself to take a deep breath, nodding a little at the question, even if it’s not entirely the truth. He’s alive, and that’s more than he can say for the kid lying on the ground. He meets her eyes briefly before looking at Theo, pursing his lips. “He’s right. We need to move the body,” he mumbles. 

With a deep breath, Lydia nods slightly. “My car is downstairs, but the morgue is closer, we can find Melissa.” And then she holds Stiles’ gaze. Because he has to know the body won’t be there long anyway.

He reaches out and takes her hand, heading for the door. “You find Melissa, Theo can babysit the corpse, and I’ll distract the cops.” Assuming his dad isn’t there. 

She links her fingers with Stiles’ as soon as he takes her hand and starts with him out of the roof, glancing back at Theo just as they’re about to step out. Something about the way he’s staring at them makes her uneasy enough to pull her hand from Stiles’, but she focuses on him again. “I’ll text you once I talk to her. Don’t come back up here.” Because he’s lucky enough to have gotten away with what happened to Donovan. He can’t be involved with this too.

He tries to push away the flicker of hurt he feels when she pulls her hand away but he nods quickly. “I had my memory,” he admits as they head down the stairs. 

It’s only until they’re out of Theo’s sight that she’s worried about it. So once they’re out of sight and with Stiles’ admission, she reaches for his hand again. “What happened?”

“Later,” he says quietly, inclining his head toward the roof. Stupid werewolf hearing. “But it wasn’t about the Dread Doctors.” He glances down at her hand when she links their fingers together once more. 

Lydia watches him closely, she nods slightly and glances back at the rooftop. And then she squeezes his hand silently and nods. “I’ll find Melissa. We’ll be out of here soon,” she promises, holding his gaze. 

“Yeah.” He squeezes her hand in return before letting go so they can split up...and deal with the latest supernatural cover-up.

* * * 

The drive to his house from the hospital was mostly a silent one. They managed to get the body into the morgue and about five minutes ago, Melissa texted Stiles saying it was gone. Just like the others.

But as Lydia pulls up to the front of his house and shuts off the engine, she has no intentions of letting him go into the house anytime soon. “So what happened?” Mostly, she wants to hear about his memory. But also about the fight up on the roof.

He doesn’t move to get out of the car. He feels emotionally drained in a way that he hasn’t for awhile. He stares out the windshield for a long moment, hands folded together in his lap. “It was -- a memory from when I was eight. With my mom. I didn’t really, you know. Remember it before tonight.” 

The second he mentions his mom, her chest tightens. She turns on her seat so she’s facing him and reaches out, rubbing a hand over his arm. “What did you see?” 

He chews his lower lip. “It was...pretty bad before she died.” His voice is hushed. “She thought I was trying to kill her. One night she went up to the hospital roof. I thought she was gonna jump. But my dad was suddenly there. She just -- kept saying that I was out to get her. To kill her. I’m not even sure she knew who I was anymore.” 

“Jesus, Stiles.” Her eyes widen and she squeezes his arm. She knew his mom had frontotemporal dementia and she studied a lot about it around the time they thought Stiles might have it, so she knew that those were signs of the disease. But she can’t imagine how hard it must have been on an eight year old to hear those things.

There’s a lump in his throat and for a moment it’s hard to breathe. To remove himself from the memory. “I think she still thought that when she died,” he murmurs.

“I’m so sorry Stiles,” she whispers quietly to him, lifting a hand to brush at his hair. “I hope she did remember you for who you really are before.” And she wants to say more to him. She wants to help him somehow, but in this situation, she knows there’s not much she can do. 

He feels the tears welling in his eyes and he closes them, nodding silently and biting down hard on his tongue. He doesn’t think she had a clue who his dad was at the end either. She was just lost in her own delusions. He wonders sometimes, if that’s the same fate he’ll eventually be facing himself. 

He takes a deep breath. “I thought I was following her up to the roof. But it was just my mind playing tricks on me because of the book. But -- the chimera was really there.” 

Lydia doesn’t even think about it this time, she shifts closer on her seat and pulls him to her, hugging him and gently pulling his face closer so she can kiss his temple. She just wants to help him and right now, unlike earlier today, it doesn’t feel like a weird thing to do. “I’m sorry you had to see that. But I guess we were lucky Theo was there.” Even if it doesn’t escape her that he seems to always be at the right place, in the right time.

He exhales, resting his head against hers and closing his eyes. “Or was he there because he knew it was going to happen,” he mumbles. 

“That’s what I was just thinking, too,” she whispers quietly to him, laying her head against his and sighing softly. That’s apparently the third time Theo is around when a chimera attacks one of them. At the police station, with Donovan at school, and now. Not to mention he got to Deaton’s office when Tracy attacked them, too. Definitely not a coincidence. 

“Once. Twice…” He finds himself relaxing a little despite the seriousness of the conversation. “I don’t trust him.” 

“Not a coincidence,” she voices out loud this time. “I agree. It feels like he knows exactly where to be to help us when we need him. To save our lives, or hold things against us. To be accepted into the pack.” And she’s relaxing a little, too. Probably because he is. And because he’s close. She has stopped trying to pretend being around him doesn’t help her. It helps both of them.

“I think he would’ve tried blackmailing me tonight,” he admits almost inaudibly. “If you hadn’t shown up when you did. I think that’s what his initial plan was and he changed it.” 

“What did he say?” she asks quietly, rubbing her hand over his back as she listens.

“He asked me not to tell any of you about what happened because he hadn’t told anyone about what I did to Donovan.” He purses his lips. “He doesn’t know you know. Or that Scott knows.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” And it’s kind of why she interrupted them to begin with. She didn’t want Stiles saying or doing anything that would give Theo even more on him. “Don’t tell him anything. And give Scott the head’s up. See if he says anything or not. He can’t know that we know, and eventually he’ll show his true colors.” She lifts her head and looks down at Stiles, hand still rubbing his back. If she still had any doubts that he’s right, she doesn’t anymore. 

Stiles nods slightly, letting his eyes close as she rubs his back. “I’ll call him when I go inside. Maybe have him come over. Or...maybe I should just go over there.” He draws in a breath and lets it out slowly. 

“Do you want me to drive you there?” She asks quietly. She wants to just stay him there with him, but she knows he’ll be okay with Scott too. And they’re supposed to spend the night apart today.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind. Maybe we should talk to him together,” he says quietly, reluctantly lifting his head up so he can look at her. 

Lydia purses her lips together at that, looking back at him. “You don’t think he wouldn’t believe you about Theo, right?” Out of all of them, Scott has to know when Stiles is telling the truth. For both werewolf and best friend reasons.

He hesitates, then shakes his head. “He’ll believe me. I just think maybe it’d be good if the three of us all put our heads together on this.” 

She relaxes slightly then nods, hugging him a little more before letting go of him. “Then I’ll come in with you.” 

“Thanks,” he whispers, meeting her eyes. 

Lydia holds his gaze and nods a little. Her heart starts beating faster but she doesn’t look away from him this time. “Are you okay?” With his mom and his argument with Theo. Maybe they can just hang out with Scott and not talk about anything upsetting for a while. If he needs it.

He’s silent for a moment. “I guess I don’t really know how to answer that,” he admits. “Are you?” 

“I guess I’ll feel better when we figure out why we saw what we saw,” she admits quietly. Mostly if the Doctors did something to Dahlia or his mom. Or if the memories are at random. “But otherwise, yeah.” She wants to be, anyway. For him.

“What if -- reading that book just...brought traumatic memories to the surface that have nothing to do with these Dread Doctors at all? Do you think that’s a possibility?” 

Lydia takes a deep breath and shrugs a shoulder, nodding. “I hope so.”


	4. Chapter 4

_Lydia is eight years old again and she is sitting on one of the hospital chairs, waiting for her mom. She hasn’t cried anymore since she saw her sister in the car like that. Or, not her sister, because that hadn’t been Dahlia anymore. She screamed, but she didn’t cry._

_She’s not sure how long her mom has been gone for, but she’s hugging the police man’s jacket around herself because it feels like it’s been a long time and she’s just really cold and tired. Even if she doesn’t really wanna go home._

_Across the waiting room, an eight year old Stiles sits in another chair, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders are trembling as he draws in one shaky breath after another and waits alone for his father to arrive._

_His mom is dead. The echo of the shrill wailing machine is still ringing in his ears even though it’s been nearly an hour. This is the longest he hasn’t moved from one spot, possibly in his entire life. His mom is dead, and his dad isn’t here, and he is _alone_ and he feels like he can’t breathe. _

_It doesn’t take her long to notice the boy sitting there. She doesn’t know if he’s crying or cold. But she can tell he’s trembling. She looks around the room for a moment then slowly makes her way over to where he is and slides onto the chair next to his._

_“Are you cold?” she whispers, offering him a part of the massive and very heavy jacket that she has over her shoulders. They can both certainly fit in it and it’s better than her being alone, too. She doesn’t wanna be alone, she doesn’t _like_ being alone. But she can’t tell her mom that, or her dad. She only told her sissy because Dahlia just told her she’d stay with her. _

_He sniffs a little, barely looking up even as he nods. He is cold. He’s freezing. Like all of the heat from his body is just gone, like he’s become hypothermic. He’s read all about hypothermia, and about PTSD, and trauma, and he knows that’s all this is. He’s not really hypothermic. He’s just in shock. He finds himself shifting closer to the girl who sat down beside him and he ducks his shoulders a little so she can cover him with the jacket._

_It doesn’t dawn on him that the jacket belongs to his dad. He chews on his lower lip, trying to take slow deep breaths to calm his heart and the terror he’s feeling. “My mom died,” he whispers, voice barely audible._

_Lydia carefully wraps the jacket over his shoulder after shifting a little closer to him so they can both fit in it. Then she sets her hands on her lap as she glances his way, then down at them. She knows he’s from her school, from her class, even. But she doesn’t remember talking to him before. And she doesn’t remember his name, so she doesn’t mention anything about that._

_“My sister is gone, too,” she says quietly. She doesn’t feel like death is enough to describe the complete absence of Dahlia when she saw her. It’s not something she can explain, but she knows she’s gone, even if it doesn’t seem real. Mostly she remembers screaming. And her mom yelling at her. And then she was being pulled away and now she’s here._

_“I’m sorry,” he whispers, tears blurring his eyes. He leans closer to her, their shoulders bumping together lightly and he swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Where are your parents? Why aren’t they with you?” There’s hurt in his voice, a twinge of bitterness that he can’t quite keep out._

_"My mom is here, somewhere, I'm supposed to wait here," she answers him quietly. And then she pauses when she notices how bad he sounds. But she knows she shouldn't say anything. _People don't like talking about upsetting things, Lydia._ It's what her dad always says. "Where's your dad?"_

_“Working,” he answers with a one shouldered shrug. “He’s always working anymore.” He rubs his sleeve over his eyes again, sniffling. For the first time since she’d sat down beside him, he looks over at her. She’s in his class. Lydia Martin. They’ve never really talked, because Stiles only talks to Scott and he’s never really been interested in girls. But this one is nice, and her hair is pretty and strawberry blonde and she has the deepest green eyes he’s ever seen and he’s pretty sure he loves her already._

_"My dad is always working too." But she doesn't mind it, because she prefers it when he's not around. And then he's looking at her and it makes Lydia pause. Something about him and how upset he looks makes her feel like she should do something to make him feel better. So she'll just do what her sister always did for her. "I can stay here until he gets here." She'll tell her mom to wait if she has to._

_He smiles for the first time in the last few days, since his mom’s health started deteriorating so quickly and the doctors had warned that “the end is near.” And though it’s a watery smile, it’s genuine. “Thanks, Lydia.”_

As soon as Lydia wakes up, she reaches behind her automatically as she sits up. But all she finds is an empty bed. She looks around the room for just a second before she reaches for her phone on the bedside table, not even checking the time before she calls him. 

She doesn’t know what that dream was, but she knows it was a memory, not a dream. She knows it was real.

He answers before the first ring finishes. He’s already pulling a clean shirt on over his head. “I know. I just -- had the dream, too.” He knows it’s why she’s calling. Instinctively knows it, the way he knows his own name. 

“We had the same dream-- memory.” It’s not a question. Even if she doesn’t fully understand why things seem to be happening more and more often now. They’ve never been as obvious before. “It was real, wasn’t it?” And it was connected to both of their other memories. “I’m-- can I come over?” she asks before he can answer. Remembering eight year old Stiles looking so broken like that, she has to see him.

“Yeah. Yeah, when I woke up, it was like it happened yesterday.” His heart is beating quickly and he reaches out and grabs his keys off his nightstand. “I’m actually already on my way to you. I’ll be there in a few minutes okay?” 

Lydia breathes out and nods even though he can’t see her. “Yeah. I’ll see you in a few minutes. Just be careful.” Driving over. Driving at all, especially now that the memory of her sister’s accident is so fresh for her.

“I will.” He hesitates for a second, like he wants to say something else then shakes his head a little, shaking himself out of the dazed state he’s in so he can drive safely to her house. “See you soon.” 

As soon as they hang up, she makes her way down the stairs and out of the house. She waits for him for what feels like an eternity on the front steps, but when she hears the unmistakable jeep engine approaching, she’s on her feet again. And he doesn’t get a choice. He’s barely out of the jeep and she’s wrapping her arms around his neck. She wanted to do it in her dream, their memory. She can’t not do it now.

He closes his eyes and buries his face against her hair when she hugs him. He draws in a slow, deep breath and exhales as he pulls her closer, one hand winding in her hair. “It’s getting stronger,” he whispers, even though he knows she knows that already, because she’s Lydia, and she’s an actual genius and _of course_ she knows. 

“It is,” she whispers back at him, tightening her arms around him when he pulls her closer. She’s not even surprised when she starts feeling calmer almost instantly. There’s just an enormous wave of relief that he’s _there_ and he’s okay and he feels it too. “I don’t understand why, but it is.” 

Stiles finds himself relaxing just as quickly. He pulls away just enough that he can look at her, expression soft in the darkness of the night. He reaches up wordlessly and brushes some hair behind her ear, the back of his knuckles grazing lightly against her cheek as he meets her eyes, searching them intently and then leaning in and pressing a kiss to her forehead, lips lingering there for a moment. 

She leans into his touch automatically and her chest tightens when he looks at her like that. It reminds her of the way his eight year old self looked at her that day at the hospital. It made her feel so much less alone. Like someone was actually paying attention to her. Her eyes are a little wider than usual as she stares back at him. 

_Do you...like Stiles? I mean, you know. Like him?_ Kira’s voice echoes in her head.  
But as Stiles leans in and presses his lips to her forehead, Lydia just sighs softly, rubbing her hands over his shoulders as she remains silent for a long moment, until he pulls away.

“I’m so sorry you were there by yourself,” she whispers as she pulls back too, opening her eyes again to look at him.

“I wasn’t,” he whispers in return, a faint, sad smile touching his mouth. “I was with you.” He just hadn’t remembered. And apparently she hadn’t either. 

Lydia smiles softly at that, watching him closely for a moment then reaching for his hand as she pulls away from him, ready to pull him back inside the house since it’s chilly out. “You didn’t remember any of that either, huh?”

“No. I didn’t.” His voice is quiet as he follows her into the house, interlacing their fingers together. He closes the door behind them and locks it. “Trauma does that sometimes. Blocks things out entirely.” And he’s pretty sure they were both pretty traumatized that night. 

With a deep breath, she nods slightly and leads him up to her room in silence. Her mom isn’t likely to wake up, but considering she’s having her own memory of what happened to Tracy at the station repressed, Lydia doesn’t think she should hear about any of this. No matter how frustrating it is to have to keep lying to her mom when she asks things that are related to the supernatural. She just isn’t ready to hear about it, obviously.

Once inside the room, she reaches to close the door then turns to face him again, never letting go of his hand. “Your dad was with my sister that night.” And that’s why he wasn’t with him when his mom passed away.

“Yeah.” His voice drops even more and he takes a deep breath, rubbing his free hand over his face. “Yeah, I realized that when I woke up. It was uh -- the jacket. It was my dad’s.” 

“I noticed that, too,” she whispers back to him, watching him closely. “Stiles, do you think that-- that’s when it started? I mean, this connection we seem to have always had. I don’t really remember talking to you before that day at all.” 

He turns his head to look at her, and meets her eyes. “It would make sense. Lydia, there’s something else. Something you may not know,” he says hesitantly. He chews nervously on his lower lip, then gently tugs her over to the bed and sits down. “The accident that night. The girl in the car -- your sister -- tried to get my dad to leave. She said if he didn’t, he wasn’t going to get to tell his wife goodbye.” 

She’s glad he’s sitting her down for this, because all of the sudden, she feels like her head is spinning. “You mean Dahlia _warned_ him.” It’s not a question. And of course they both know what that means. Only a banshee would know something like that. And it does run in the family.

“And he didn’t believe her. Because he didn’t know that werewolves and banshees and the supernatural were real.” His voice is soft. He wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him because he can feel how off balance she feels. 

Lydia leans into him instantly, taking a deep breath as she closes her eyes. “It makes sense,” she mutters quietly. “With my grandmother being one. For all I know my mother is one too, she just never had an injury that was bad enough to awaken it. I wonder if Dahlia knew…” That she was a banshee. That she was going to die that night, too.

He rests his head atop hers, tightening his arms around her a little. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want _her_ to think about it, either. He doesn’t want to know if she’s going to be able to feel her own death before it actually happens and the idea terrifies of him in general. 

She wraps her arms around him, shifting closer to him as she does. As she starts to relax a little, she just sighs deeply and turns her face against his neck a little more. “Thanks for telling me,” she whispers. Once again wondering if the doctors did something to her sister, but she knows Stiles doesn’t have an answer for that anymore than she does. Right now, she’s just glad he’s _there_. 

* * *

Stiles makes his way down the hall and to his locker early the next morning. He’d spent the rest of the night at Lydia’s, even though he’s pretty sure neither of them had gone back to sleep. They’d just laid down together, talking quietly on occasion about nothing and everything, his arms wrapped around her and his face resting against the back of her neck. He’d relaxed physically even if mentally he was wide awake. 

He wanted to talk to Scott. To his dad. And mostly right now he wanted to catch up with her again, because he’d taken off when her alarm clock went off, so he could go home and shower and change clothes and grab all his books from around his room. 

He spotted a flash of strawberry blonde hair down the hall and he dodges a couple of people in his way on the way to her. “Hey.” 

She’s already turning around to face him with a smile on her lips when he approaches her. Closing her locker, she sees the flash of plaid heading her way and relaxes a little. She just saw him a couple of hours ago, but she’s just been on edge about him getting hurt on the way to his house and then to school. It’s not like either of them actually got any sleep after that dream. Even if she feels oddly refreshed about at least managing to piece a few things together. 

“Hey,” she greets, shifting her book in her arms. “Glad to see you managed to get here on time.” Probably because she gets up to get ready for school about an hour and half earlier than anyone else.

He smirks at her comment, gripping onto his backpack straps with both hands. “It’s not like I went home and went back to sleep,” he tells her. “You make it sound like me being late is a regular thing.” His voice is teasing. He’s relieved to see her too even though it’s only been a couple hours. He’d missed her, which he knows is ridiculous on some level, and probably not necessarily healthy, either. But he’s chalking it up to what they figured out a few hours ago and after all they’ve been through together, they’re bound to have a little bit of codependency going on. 

“Hey, I didn’t say that. You’re usually on time.” And since he’s teasing, she pauses, pursing her lips together as she pretends to think about it. “Except that one time you found me crying in the parking lot and then said you would be back to talk to me and never showed up again.” Of course she adds a smirk to the end of that sentence. And on her part, she’s certainly not bothered, or even thinking about how this might turn into some weird codependency thing. She spent so much time feeling like he was distant, she’s absolutely okay with him being around a lot more. So much that she reaches over and rubs her hand over his arm without even thinking about it. 

His mouth opens in a mock offended way. “Hey now, I can’t help that I had to hold Derek’s heavy ass up in a pool for two hours. I mean, trust me, I thought about letting him drown.” He glances down to where her hand is rubbing his arm, trying to ignore the flicker of electricity he feels at the touch. 

While she notices him looking down at her hand, she also notices that he doesn’t pull his arm away, so she just squeezes it gently and lets her hand lay there. She’s comfortable, it’s comforting, she has no reason to pull away if he doesn’t seem bothered by it. “Excuses. Just accept that you’re never living this down.” And maybe her teasing tone has a hint of flirting to it. _Maybe_. And she doesn’t think she’s ever flirted with him before, but then, she’s not sure that is what this is, either.

He lifts his gaze to hers, eyes dancing with amusement when she teases him back. “Fine, fine. I’ll accept it. I _suppose_.” And he thinks she might actually be flirting with him, and it makes his heart beat a little faster than usual, and he’s unable to keep the grin off his face. “Walk you to AP Bio?” 

Lydia can’t help but grin softly at him, at the look on his face. He actually looks more relaxed than she’s seen him in a while -- not counting mornings when they wake up together -- and it’s nice to see him looking like that. So she just nods her agreement. “Yeah.” She drops her hand from his arm and pulls the strap of her purse further over her shoulder. “And meet you up after so we can talk to Scott?” And Kira. She doesn’t really trust Theo anymore than Stiles does. And he seems to always be around Malia, but bringing her up might make things awkward, so she just leaves it at Scott.

“Yeah, that sounds good to me.” He rests his hand at the small of her back to guide her through the crowd of students as they head down the hall toward her biology classroom. For the moment at least, all thoughts of Dread Doctors and the Desert Wolf and murder by self defense are long gone from his head. There’s just the two of them and she’s smiling in a way he hasn’t seen her smile in a long time now and he’s missed it so much. 

She leans into his touch and smiles his way as they walk down the hall. She knows they’ll have to talk about what they’re going to tell Scott and Kira, and maybe the others eventually. But that can wait until they’re done with this class. And once they’re at her class, she pushes the door open, not even glancing through the small window to see if someone is inside as she glances at Stiles. “I’ll see you--” But then she pauses.

Before she even looks, she can hear the kissing noises. And maybe a moan? Lydia frowns, turning to look at the desk in the very back of the room and stills when she sees _who_ it is.

She stills so suddenly that he bumps right into her and then reaches out to steady her with his hands on her shoulders. When he sees _why_ she stopped, he freezes too, staring in disbelief at Malia and Theo, making out in the back of the biology room. “Wow.” His voice is flat. 

Lydia’s eyes narrow instantly as they finally do break their kiss. She doesn’t even bother pretending that she’s surprised or anything other than angry with both of them. Do they seriously expect them to believe that neither one of them heard someone coming into the room? That Malia of all people _didn’t_ pick up on Stiles’ scent?

But she doesn’t care what they have to say, or what bullshit excuse they’re going to offer. She just grabs Stiles’ hand and starts back out the door. “C’mon.” 

Stiles’ gaze locks on Theo for a moment, and his expression is stony. Cold. He lets Lydia pull him out of the classroom even as he sees that Malia is gearing up to say _something_. “Well I guess that explains a lot,” he mumbles as she tugs him into the hallway. 

With werewolf hearing, though, the hallway is hardly good enough for her. She pulls him down toward the opposite end of it and into the boys locker room. The doors are heavier there and she knows it should be completely empty this early in the morning. “Are you okay?” she asks as she turns to face him.

“Aside from the urge to wolfsbane bomb the newest werewolf? I’m fine.” His jaw is tense, but there’s no other visible sign that he’s upset. 

She can’t really blame him for being angry. For the way his jaw clenches. And for now, for his sake, she’s pushing away the part of her that’s wondering if he’s also jealous. She knows he probably is, they _just_ broke up, after all. “He has to have heard us coming in, Stiles.” Both of them have to have heard them. It just feels too much like a set up. 

“I have a feeling that’s exactly what he wanted,” he admits, meeting her eyes. He hears footsteps approaching the door, and he shifts, moving to stand just slightly in front of Lydia. Maybe Theo had heard them coming, but he has a feeling Malia didn’t. She looked upset. 

He glances back at Lydia, forcing himself to take a deep breath. “Continue this conversation later?” His voice is quiet even though Malia has super hearing, and Theo probably isn’t too far off. “Somewhere in private.” 

Pursing her lips together, Lydia looks at him for a long moment then nods slightly. “Are you sure you wanna stay?” Because if this was her after Jackson, she’d be running to the bathroom to cry. 

_Wanting to stay is a serious over exaggeration of the situation,_ he thinks. He meets her eyes and nods slightly. It’s not like he can avoid Malia forever. She’s part of the pack. And he doesn’t want anything to happen to her. 

Lydia holds his gaze and nods slightly, lifting a hand to cup his face, trying to make sure he really is as okay as he can be. “I’ll see you right after class.” 

He leans into her touch instinctively and nods, too. “See you soon,” he agrees, barely resisting the urge to turn his head and kiss the palm of her hand. The thought startles him a little and he swallows hard. 

With a deep breath, she looks at him for a moment longer, letting her hand drop to his arm and giving it a gentle squeeze before she lets go of him completely and heads out of the locker room, somehow completely missing Malia standing just a few steps away down the corridor. Which is probably a good thing. 

As soon as she’s on her way back toward her class, her heels start clicking harder against the floor, louder. If she could, she’d yell at Theo and Malia both. And she _does_ consider saying something to Theo, but the teacher is already in there this time, and there’s no sign of Malia. So she throws a glare his way before she takes her seat. 

It’s one of her Lydia Martin, looks most definitely _can_ kill glares, though. So she’s not surprised when she finds both Scott and Kira staring at her with identical, puzzled looks. Sighing, she just shakes her head at them and turns her attention to the front of the class.

Moments later her phone vibrates with a message from Scott. 

_What’s wrong?_

Lydia looks down at her phone and takes a deep breath. At least Theo can’t overhear her texts. And hey, she can torture him some since he has absolutely no idea what she’s saying. So she makes a point of glancing at Scott, then back toward Theo before reaching for her phone and typing. 

_Theo is what’s wrong._ And Malia, but for now, she’s keeping that to herself. Only out of respect for Stiles. Still, she continues with her texts.

_I walked into the classroom and he was making out with Malia in the back. Stiles was with me._ Because of course she’s going to tell Scott the truth.

It takes Scott a moment to respond, and there’s a shocked expression on his face before he turns his head to look at Theo and then at Lydia. 

_Is he okay?_

This time, she doesn’t even bother looking at Theo. After Scott did she knows he’ll pick up on the fact that she told him. 

_As okay as he can be, I guess. I’ll check on him after class._

_So will I._ His jaw tightens a little and he glances at Kira before scooting his phone to her so she can see what Lydia had to say. Her eyes widen a little when she reads the messages and she looks over at Lydia, shocked.

Lydia shrugs a shoulder at the look on Kira’s face and nods. Then she sends them one more message: _Stiles doesn’t wanna talk about it here so they don’t overhear us. We can meet at my house._

_After school._ Scott nods a little, looking stony-faced when he glances at her again. 

She glances over at Scott and Kira one more time before focusing back on the class. For a moment, anyway, and then, as she has an idea, she picks up her phone again and this time, sends Stiles a text. She’s assuming he’s still pretty upset -- no, she’s fairly sure she can actually _feel_ how he’s doing. So she figures a nice distraction will help.

_Do you wanna go swimming today after school? Scott and Kira are coming over too._

It’s a few minutes later before he responds. _Sure._ He doesn’t tell her he blew off class in lieu of talking to his ex-girlfriend because he assumes she’s figured that out. Not that the talk really went anywhere, aside from Malia apologizing and looking upset and asking him why he was spending so much time with Lydia suddenly. He’d told her to go to class and he’d headed out to the parking lot to sit in his jeep for the time being. It isn’t like he’d be able to focus right now anyway. 

The one word reply makes her stomach drop. She really wants nothing more than to go find him and somehow figure out a way to make him feel better. Somehow. But she knows it’s better to wait for the class to end. She only has about half an hour to go now. _You’re still at the school, right?_

His head is leaning against his hand, propped up on the driver’s side window. He lets out a slow breath, closing his eyes after her text. As great as his mood had been earlier, now he just kind of wants to go home and crawl under his covers. To hide the way he had the day after he’d killed Donovan. The way he had after the nogitsune. He takes another moment and then responds to her text. _Yeah. I’m in my jeep. I’m okay. Just didn’t want to go to class._

_I’ll meet you there in a little bit._ Because she knows he’s telling her the truth, at least. And it will be easier on him if he doesn’t have to walk back into the school and accidently run into Malia or Theo. Assuming he hasn’t already. And she has the feeling he has.

***

A little over thirty minutes later, Stiles looks up from where he’s been staring blankly out the windshield of his jeep and spots Lydia heading toward him. He smiles a little despite everything that’s happened since they got to school, and he unlocks the door so she can climb in the passenger seat. 

She smiles back at him when she sees him smiling at her. She knows he should have one more class now, but she’ll gladly just take him out of here. She doubts he’ll be able to pay attention, anyway. “Hey,” she greets as she carefully climbs into the car, making sure her dress stays in place as she does. “Do you wanna just go?” 

“Yeah.” He doesn’t even hesitate, reaching out and starting the engine and putting it into gear. He glances at her sideways and chews his lower lip. “How was Bio?” 

“It was fine,” she answers, laying her purse on her lap as she shifts on her seat so she’s looking at him. “Scott and Kira are gonna stop by their houses after school to change and then they’re coming over. I-- texted Scott what happened.” 

If he’s surprised, it doesn’t show on his face. He purses his lips together and nods, focusing ahead, on the road. He’s not entirely sure he wants to know Scott’s reaction. He feels her gaze on him and he wants to look at her again. “I ran into Malia right after you headed to class.” 

Lydia sighs softly at that. She knew she should have just stayed with him and dragged him out to the parking lot. Of course Malia was going to go after him. “What happened?” she asks, ignoring how tight her stomach suddenly feels. She wants to protect Stiles, to make sure he’s not getting even more hurt. But she knows there’s also a hint of jealousy there. Because she’s fairly sure this is the first time they talked to each other since the break up and his reaction to this could mean a lot of things.

He’s silent for a moment. “It’s been going on for awhile.” His voice is devoid of emotion. “She swears it was just kissing.” A humorless smile touches his mouth and then he shrugs a shoulder. “I’m sure this is all part of his ultimate plan too.” Whatever that happens to be. 

“For a while?” she echoes. They haven’t been broken up for that long, but it definitely explains why Malia seemed to take it as well as she did. If she was already seeing Theo. Lydia reaches over and places her hand on his arm. “Yeah, it definitely felt like a set up, but-- wouldn’t Malia be able to smell that on him? If he was playing her?” 

He glances at her sideways and arches his eyebrows. “Not if she didn’t want to know what it meant.” They’d been together for months before she’d ever even picked up on the fact that he was almost constantly anxious. “And not if he’s as good at this as I think he is.” 

“So you think we need to help her?” She’s pretty sure that’s what he means, and she knows they’ll probably have to do it, even if she doesn’t think Malia is completely innocent in all of this. She seems to pick up on a lot pretty quickly. When it interests her. And Theo definitely seems to interest her.

He exhales, looking uncertain for the briefest of moments. “Yeah. I think he has her snowed.” Even if part of her wanted to be snowed. A flare of bitterness surges through him and his jaw tightens a little before relaxing again. “We need to figure out what the hell he’s up to before things get even worse.” 

“We’ll have Scott talk to her, then.” It’s not so much a suggestion as an affirmation. Stiles doesn’t need to be talking to her now, not about this, not when he’s obviously this upset. “And you and I will look into Theo some more.” Because keeping busy is also obviously very important. And she just knows Stiles too well to think she can keep him out of the investigating portion of this plan.

“Do you think Scott believes Theo’s not who he says he is?” His voice is hushed as he stares out the windshield. 

“I don’t think he’s as certain as the rest of us, but I think he’s getting there,” she says sincerely. She saw the way Scott looked when she told him what they saw this morning. And while Malia may have her excuses, Theo doesn’t.

His shoulders drop a little. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It always takes him longer to get to _this person is clearly evil_ than me.” 

“We need that,” she says quietly, shrugging a shoulder. “Let’s be honest, Stiles. If it was up to the two of us, we’d never trust anyone new. Ever.” For as much as she’s willing to help people, she definitely doesn’t trust them. She doesn’t trust Jordan. Or Malia. Obviously not Theo either. And even Kira took a while and saving Stiles’ life for her to grow on her.

“I know. I _know._ ” He sounds frustrated, and he is, but not with Lydia. Not even with Scott, really. “I mean I can’t even be mad at him about it, and that’s the thing. I’m glad he’s not like us.” His voice is hushed. “I’m glad he hasn’t lost all of his optimism about other people.” He doesn’t know how Scott’s managed to hang onto it, but he knows he’d do just about anything to make sure it doesn’t change. “I’m just --” His voice trails off and he shakes his head. 

“You’re his best friend and you wish he’d take your word for it.” This is more of a suggestion than an affirmation, but she’s fairly sure it’s the truth. It’s more about Scott trusting him than Scott not trusting Theo. 

“I know I don’t always get it right. But I called it with Kate Argent, and I called it with Matt, and I called it when the whole thing with the Nogitsune first started.” His fingers grip just a little more tightly onto the steering wheel. “So yeah, I guess I wish he’d trust me a little more than he trusts people he barely knows.” 

Lydia purses her lips together. She feels like this is a conversation he should be having with Scott, not with her. Getting things out in the open. But she supposes she should be happy that he’s talking at all. “I don’t think that’s what this is about, Stiles. I think he does believe you. I think he does trust your instincts to a point. But--” She shrugs a shoulder. “It’s Scott. And he has to give everyone a chance, at the very least. Even if it turns out he’s wrong, he has to know he tried to help that person first.” 

He gives a short nod, falling silent because he knows she’s right. He’s taking it too personally, the way he has with everything since the nogitsune. His nerves are frayed again and his knuckles are clenched so tightly on the wheel that they’ve turned an even paler shade of white. “We’re not gonna make it out of this town for college,” he mumbles. 

As he turns onto her street, she’s glad they’re almost there. With the way he’s working himself up right now, she doesn’t want him driving anymore. If they were further away, she’d make him pull over. As it is, she’ll just make sure he’s not too deep in his own head for the last few minutes. “Why are you saying that?” 

“What are the chances?” he whispers, worrying his lower lip between his teeth. “We get a break and then something else happens. We keep -- losing people.” And sure they’d acquired new people, too, but it isn’t the same. It’s never the same. “I just keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Because it’s going to. It’s only a matter of time. 

Pursing her lips together, Lydia looks away and considers her words carefully for a moment. She made the choice to not graduate early, to stay in school and try to bump her GPA even more because she couldn’t bring herself not to. She couldn’t just leave them, she couldn’t lose them, too. Every now and then, the fact that Allison isn’t going to be there for their senior prom, for graduation, for their whole college experience hits her hard, and she feels like it’s a reminder that she made the right decision not to leave on her own. 

Right now, she knows Stiles must be talking mostly about losing Malia. He’s not thinking about Allison, or Aiden, or anyone else they lost. He’s talking about break ups and long distance friendships and she doesn’t wanna take away the focus, because again, it’s important that he’s talking. And he’s obviously very upset about this. 

“We still have each other, Stiles.” And she means them and Scott and Kira. “We can make your vision work.” And she needs it to work as much as he does. She thinks they all do. Because ending up in opposite sides of the country just sounds almost as painful as actually losing another member of the pack.

He forces himself to take a slow, deep breath because the last thing he wants to do is crash the jeep -- especially when Lydia’s there with him. His body is fraught with tension as ideas spin in his head about how and why they’re all likely to be dead before they actually reach graduation. “I swear to god if vampires show up next, I’m packing your stuff, my stuff, my dad’s stuff, and Scott’s stuff and we’re moving to Los Angeles immediately. Fuck it, I’m done. I’m out. That’s where I’m drawing the metaphorical line in the sand with all this crap.” 

In theory, they’re moving anyway. But she doesn’t point that out. He’s tense, his anxiety is through the roof, and he’s upset. Not to mention, angry. So she just reaches out and places a hand on his back, rubbing it gently. “Okay, no vampires. Just take a deep breath, Stiles.” 

He does as she instructs, feeling the warmth of her hand even through his two layers of clothes. Or maybe he’s just imagining he can feel it. He goes back to chewing on his lower lip. “I can’t lose you guys,” he says after a moment, staring straight ahead and blinking rapidly as his eyes begin to feel too warm. He pulls his jeep into her driveway. 

Her face falls and she shakes her head, her own eyes tearing up when she notices his tears even though he’s not looking at her. She adds a little more pressure as she rubs her hand over his back and takes a deep breath. “I can’t lose you guys either, Stiles.” That’s why most of the time she’s not in school, she’s trying to find a way to improve herself. The accuracy of her powers, and now the fighting. So she can protect them if it comes down to it. “We’ll find a way.” 

He turns his head to look at her, meeting her eyes for a moment and then leaning over and pulling her into a hug. “Together, right?” 

“Yes,” she whispers to him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and pulling him closer. “We have this tether, this connection. We’re sticking together, Stiles.” Considering how much better they feel when they’re with each other, she can’t even imagine being far away now.

He buries his face against her hair, closing his eyes tightly as she hugs him back. They have a connection that just a day ago he assumed was mostly just from the ritual, and now they know it started longer ago than that. It had started the night they’d each lost one of the most important people in their lives. 

And they weren’t going to do anything to break it if either of them got a say in it.


End file.
